


Mirrors and Snake Skin

by deirdre_aithne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deirdre_aithne/pseuds/deirdre_aithne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Arthur returns from a visit to Grimmauld Place behaving strangely, Harry decides to investigate. The last thing he expected to find there was Severus Snape, who he thought had died six months earlier in the Battle of Hogwarts, alive and well and stalking around the place as though he owned it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirrors and Snake Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Severus/Harry Big Bang on snape_potter. My eternal love and adoration to uniquepov for all of her hard work not just betaing this, but acting as cheerleader and assistant muse whenever I would hit a rough patch, and for being instrumental in the plotting/outlining process. I really would have been lost without you on this one, bb. Thanks as well to secretlypadfoot for all of her cheerleading, and to writcraft for always feeding my Snarry muse and listening to me rant a few times when I'd get stuck. I had the idea to write a Snarry version of _Beauty and the Beast_ months upon months ago and kept looking for both an excuse and the motivation to make it happen, and I'm fairly certain that if this fest hadn't rolled around, it might have sat on the shelf for quite a while longer before I found either to make it happen, so thanks to the lovely mods of the snape_potter comm for always giving me new reasons to write some lovely Snarry!

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place shouldered aside numbers eleven and thirteen to make room for itself as Arthur Weasley stood on the street in front of it, looking up at the building. From the outside, it appeared no different than it had when the Order had paid their last visit to the place, after Dumbledore's death nearly a year and a half prior, to clear out whatever belongings they could. That said nothing about the state of the interior of the house, however, and Arthur remained standing on the street for some time after number twelve had settled into its proper place between the neighbouring houses. He would be the first member of the now-dismantled Order to step foot in that house since it had been abandoned when the Death Eaters had learned of its location, and there was no knowing what curses might lay in store for the first person to cross the threshold into the ancient house.

Bundled up against the bitter November wind, Arthur finally forced his feet to move, carrying him the short distance from the sidewalk to the front steps of the house, just as a neighbouring curtain began to twitch open. A moment later, safely out of view behind the enchantments surrounding number twelve, he watched as a Muggle woman's face pressed against her window to peer out at the street where he had been standing. When the curtain settled into place again, he looked away, turning his gaze to the front door as he moved up the steps, his wand gripped tightly in hand.

After murmuring a quick _Protego_ over himself, Arthur tapped his wand to the door and unravelled the familiar spellwork holding it closed with ease. Once a spell confirmed that there had been no malicious enchantments placed on the door itself, he pushed it open and watched it swing inward, making a dull _thud_ as it came to a stop against the wall. He waited on the stoop for a moment longer, before taking a hesitant step forward, holding his wand aloft. Rather than the rush of dust and wind in the form of Dumbledore that he'd expected to greet him, there was only silence, and Arthur cautiously pushed the door closed behind himself. Pressing his back against the closed door, he stood for a moment and surveyed the stretch of hall in front of him for signs that something was out of place. The removal of Mad-Eye's enchantment was worrisome in itself, although it appeared as though whoever had broken the spell had not bothered to replace it.

Still wary of some trap having been laid within the house, Arthur pushed himself away from the door and slowly crept forward. The floorboards groaned beneath his feet, and he looked down at the floor for the first time since entering, noticing that the layer of dust which Molly had never quite been able to spell and scrub away was not as thick as it ought to have been, with the house sitting unused for as long as it had. Shaking himself, Arthur pushed the thought away to a back corner of his mind as a new realization came to him and he began shrugging off the jacket he wore.

While the weather outside had grown bitterly cold with the late season and the wind, the inside of Grimmauld Place was unusually warm. Upon first entering, he had been focussed enough on other things not to notice the wave of warmth that had washed over him and eased the chill out of his bones, after standing out on the street. But as his body warmed and he lingered in the hallway, the heat began to grow uncomfortable. Even once his jacket had been draped over his arm, he felt it just a bit too strongly, perhaps because the air inside the house seemed so dry. Casting a cooling charm over himself, Arthur moved forward along the hall until he made it to the kitchen.

Once again, Arthur noticed that the expected signs of disuse were lacking. Though it did not look especially well-used, with one notable exception, it did appear to be maintained, at the very least. Stepping farther into the kitchen, Arthur spared a fleeting glance around the room, half-expecting to find Kreacher lurking beneath the table as he rubbed at the ancient wood with a well-worn rag. The elf was nowhere to be seen, however, and Arthur turned his focus instead to a row of blooming plants in a window box resting on the sill. For all her efforts to make the place more welcoming, Molly had never attempted growing flowers, nor had any other members of the Order, as far as Arthur knew. Kreacher hardly seemed likely to attempt such a thing himself, especially in an empty house, which left the question of where the window box had come from, and who had taken the time and care to cultivate the flowers inside to such a healthy life?

Frowning, he stepped closer to the window to examine the white blooms when the soft sound of rustling fabric from behind him drew his attention. He saw a shadow, too tall to be Kreacher, shifting out of the corner of his eye as he began to turn, and raised his wand in defence, only to have it soar out of his hand just as he brought up his arm. Before Arthur could properly react, he found himself with a wandtip pressed beneath his chin with a firm pressure, and felt the presence of a tall body behind his own, hovering close and just barely touching him. His heart racing, he squeezed his eyes closed and attempted to take one deep breath and then another, until the voice of the figure behind him washed over him and his eyes snapped open again.

"Why are you here, Arthur?"

Arthur made an effort to turn, only to have the wand pressed beneath his chin dig further into his flesh, and he stilled. Swallowing and then swiping his tongue across his lips, which suddenly felt far too dry, he struggled to find his voice. "S-Severus?"

"I asked you a question, Arthur. _Why_ are you here?" The man behind him pressed his wand harder still into Arthur's chin, seemingly oblivious to the sound of discomfort he made, or simply uncaring. "Does the Order intend to take back the house? Or perhaps _Potter_ plans to return?" There was a strange edge to his tone, which seemed to border on desperation, and he paused only a moment, waiting for Arthur to respond, before demanded in a barking tone, "Answer me!"

"No," Arthur managed, finally shaking himself enough to speak again. He gave a small shake of his head and edged forward, feeling the wand easing its pressure as Severus pulled it back slightly. "No one is coming back. Harry doesn't want it, and the Order no longer has need of it." He hesitated and then began to add, "Severus, how-"

"You have still failed to tell me why _you_ are here, then, Arthur."

Although the wand beneath his chin was no longer pressed hard into his flesh, Arthur could feel it there, an obvious warning against making another attempt to turn or perhaps a threat of what might happen if he chose not to answer. Swallowing again, Arthur said softly, "Something of Fred's was left behind. I wanted to retrieve it." His statement was met with a lengthy silence, during which Arthur's mind raced through the possible outcomes of the strange encounter.

Severus' body had never been found after the Battle of Hogwarts, although there had been a substantial amount of blood left behind on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. Arthur himself had been one of the few who had made the trek up to the building in an effort to bring Severus' body back to Hogwarts, to lay with the rest of the fallen members of the Order. When there had been no body to retrieve, however, he and Kingsley had assumed that one of the surviving Death Eaters had done something to him. To encounter him now, alive and well – for Arthur had no doubt, after hearing him speak, that this was Severus, although his voice seemed somewhat altered now – was strange indeed.

"I'm afraid that I will not allow you to wander throughout the house, Arthur," Severus said at length, drawing Arthur away from his thoughts. "Nor can I allow you to simply walk out of here, now that you know that I am here."

Arthur's eyes widened a fraction and he reached to grasp Severus' hand where it held his wand, trying to move it away from beneath his chin. His grip faltered after touching him, however, when the skin beneath his palm had a strange texture, akin to soft leather. Just as he dropped his head to look at it, however, Severus snatched his hand, and his wand, away, leaving Arthur with only a glimpse of the black fabric of his sleeve. Before he could take advantage of the change and turn, Arthur felt the tip of Severus' wand press against the back of his neck, at the base of his skull, and he stilled again.

" _Do not_ make the mistake of thinking that you will get the better of me, Arthur." Severus' tone changed, not quite softening, but losing its angry edge as he continued. "I would hardly deprive your family of you, and I am not fool enough to believe you came here without telling any of them where you would be. However, I also cannot risk you mentioning my presence here to anyone."

"If you don't allow me to find what I came here for, my mentioning it will be the least of your problems, Severus," Arthur stated. He hesitated, considering the wisdom of threatening a man like Severus and added, in a much less confrontational tone, " _Please_. Let me find it, and I will leave. I won't speak a word of this to anyone."

"No." Severus' tone was firm and, as though sensing the wave of anger that coursed through Arthur at the simple answer, he pressed his wand harder against the back of his neck to remind him of its presence. "You will tell me what you are after and I will retrieve it for you myself, if it is here. And then, you will give me more than just your promise of silence, Arthur, before I allow you to leave this house. I hardly trust your word alone."

"What is it you want, then?" Arthur asked, straining a little to hear as Severus answered him after several beats of silence, his voice a quiet murmur.

"I want an Unbreakable Vow. It is the _only_ way you will be walking out of here," Severus added when Arthur tensed. "Swear not to utter a word of my presence here, and not to encourage anyone to return to this house, and I will hand you back your wand and let you leave unhindered. If you will not, then I will do what I must to ensure you keep your silence."

The threat in his words was obvious, and Arthur did not hesitate to nod. With Severus' wand pressed against his neck and his own wand out of reach, there really was no other choice. An Unbreakable Vow was not something to be taken lightly, but the alternative was an unknown. Even after Harry's assertion that Severus had been on the side of the Order during the war, that said nothing of what his intentions were now, and Arthur was hard-pressed to believe that Severus would hesitate to use Dark magic to ensure he got his way, if the situation were desperate enough.

"You'd need a Bonder, first. Isn't that a bit more trouble than it’s worth, if you want to remain hidden here?"

Severus did not hesitate to respond, his voice level, although Arthur could make out a hint of smugness to his tone. "I have one. Kreacher will-"

" _Kreacher_?" Arthur's brow furrowed at the mention of the house-elf's name. It had been assumed that Kreacher continued to inhabit Grimmauld Place, since Harry had never called him away from the house. And the elf's penchant for following his own will over that of his 'masters', when capable of doing so, was well enough known. But that he would be willing to help Severus came as a surprise to Arthur, when Kreacher had spent as much time muttering about him as any other member of the Order during the time they spent there for meetings.

"Yes, Kreacher. I suspect you are aware that house-elf magic is no less effective than our own, despite their lack of a wand. Do not get any hopes that the Vow would be easily broken or circumvented, simply because he will be the one to bind it. Now-" Severus pressed his wand harder into Arthur's flesh. "What is your decision?"

Arthur hesitated for a moment before speaking, inclining his head in a small nod. "I'll swear the Vow, Severus."

Immediately, Severus removed his wand from the back of Arthur's neck, but placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from turning around. Arthur glanced at the hand out of the corner of his eye and noticed that Severus had angled his hand in a way that left only his fingers visible without having to turn his head, something which Arthur did not dare to do while he was still unarmed and at Severus' mercy.

"Tell me what it is you came for."

"A photograph," Arthur said after a brief hesitation. "Of Fred and George in front of their shop."

Other than the sentimental value to himself, Molly, and the rest of the family, it was nothing of any worth, which Arthur knew. The venture into Grimmauld Place had been purely to retrieve the last piece of their son's memory they were able to, with everything else of his already amassed at the Burrow or tucked away somewhere in George's flat above the shop, as a memento of his lost brother. The photograph was the most recent one either Molly or Arthur could recall having been taken, with so little time or occasion for such things during the height of the war. When George had denied having it in his possession, and they had been unable to find it amongst the few other photographs they'd collected, Molly had been certain it had been left behind during their evacuation of Grimmauld Place.

"It would have been in his room upstairs, I think. He and George had it last, when we were here. Please, Severus..."

Arthur felt Severus' hand drop away from him, but he didn't dare turn around. Severus didn't speak, but after a moment, a single photograph soared through the air towards him, and Arthur reached out to snatch it out of the air. He held it in trembling hands as he looked down at it, watching as Fred and George grinned out of the image, jostling each other about in front of their shop in Diagon Alley. Swallowing thickly, Arthur carefully tucked the photograph into a pocket, his voice coming out choked as he said, "Thank you."

"I wouldn't thank me just yet, Arthur." There was a sound of rustling fabric behind him, and just as Arthur started to turn, Severus stepped around in front of him. His head was slightly bowed, allowing the hood pulled over it to shadow his face, and the collar of Severus' robes had been buttoned high, disappearing into the shadows of his hood. He extended one hand to Arthur, with the sleeve of his robes pulled down to cover all but his fingers. "There is still the matter of the Vow to settle. _Kreacher!_ "

"Of course." Raising his arm to clasp Severus' hand in his own, Arthur frowned when he felt that same odd texture beneath his fingers. He started to turn their clasped hands to one side in an effort to get a better look, but Severus quickly wrenched their arms back to their previous position, his sleeve now covering the majority of his hand and the ends of Arthur's fingers. A loud _crack_ sounded towards the doorway of the kitchen, and Arthur turned to see Kreacher standing there.

"Kreacher was called for?"

"Yes," Severus said tersely, never turning his head towards the elf. "I require your assistance to bond an Unbreakable Vow." Arthur watched Kreacher shuffle forward towards them, wringing his hands and looking at Severus without the usual expression of contempt he'd shown for anyone else. When he had stepped up beside them, Severus' turned his hooded face towards Kreacher, gesturing him closer with his free hand.

"Place your hand over ours and _do not_ remove it until the bond has been sealed." Kreacher nodded and did as he was told, raising a withered hand and laying it over their clasped ones after a brief hesitation. His face pinched in an expression of distaste, but he did not speak a word of it, and Severus turned his face towards Arthur again and began to speak.

"Do you, Arthur, swear never to speak of my presence here, to anyone?" As Arthur agreed, a fiery strand of magic sparked from Kreacher's hand and twined its way around their clasped hands. "And do you swear never to encourage anyone to return to this house?"

"I swear."

A second strand of magic wrapped around their hands as Arthur watched. The magic flared, casting a red glow for a brief moment before the strands seemed to meld into their hands. Kreacher snatched his hand away, then, and Severus quickly dropped his own down to his side. Reaching into his robes, he withdrew Arthur's wand from an inner pocket and offered it to him, holding it by the tip to present Arthur with the handle end. Arthur reached out to take it, watching as Severus released it the moment his own hand curled around the handle.

"Now, get out, Arthur."

* * *

Stretching his legs out in front of him, Harry leaned back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes, breathing in the brisk, early winter air. The Burrow's garden was all but dead now, as the last of the stubborn flowers finally gave in to the chill, and only the bushes he sat between, beneath the kitchen window, continued to thrive. It made for the perfect escape from the house without actually having to leave the familiar place, since all of the Weasleys seemed to prefer the warmth of indoors to the chill of the garden, and Harry relished the moments of peace and solitude.

After the Battle, the Weasleys had clung tightly to each other as they mourned Fred's death, and Harry and Hermione had both quickly found themselves pulled into the fold as well. For Hermione, it had meant spending equal time moving back and forth between the Burrow and her parents' new home in Australia. Ron and Ginny both had latched onto her presence in the house, and if she wasn't wrapped in Ron's arms on the sofa, she was almost always doing one thing or another with Ginny, offering distractions and comfort where she could. For Harry, though, there had been no bouncing around. The Weasleys were the closest thing to a family he had, and it had only made sense to him to stay with them. 

In the early days, he'd spent the majority of his time with George, until he had moved off to his flat above the shop, helping him pore over old notes from Fred about their products and passing around a bottle of Firewhisky. It had been George's way of coping with the loss of his other half, and Harry had never questioned it, although he did occasionally wonder if it might not have been better for George to have spent more time with the whole of his family, rather than holed up inside the bedroom he had once shared with Fred, clinging to the remnants of his memory. But whether Harry, or any of the Weasleys, understood it or not, it had been what George needed; the day that he had left the Burrow, he had smiled for the first time since the Battle.

 _"You don't have to leave,"_ Molly had tried to tell him. The rest of the family had crowded around the two of them in the small front room, while Molly clung to George as though letting him go meant that he would be gone forever. George had simply smiled, not sadly, as Harry had seen so often over the past several months, but in understanding, and had carefully removed himself from his mother's arms to look her in the eyes.

 _"Freddie would've wanted to see people laughing again by now. He'd have my hide if he could see me, leaving the shop closed just because he's gone."_ George had shook his head, flashing that smile around the room and lingering just a moment longer on Harry before focussing on Molly again. _"The best way to honour the dead is to_ live _for them. Freddie didn't die so that any of us could sit around and mope, and I owe him better than that."_

The parting words had stuck in Harry's head, and more than once in the few months since George left, he'd caught himself wondering if he was the only one who'd really heard them. He couldn't speak for Bill or Percy, who were rarely seen these days, or Charlie, who wasn't seen at all since going back to Romania. But Ron had put his plans to sit his NEWTs on hold indefinitely, and Hermione with him, much to everyone's surprise. Ginny, although she had gone back to Hogwarts for her final year, had gone as far as giving up Quidditch, after saying something about it not feeling right to play anymore. The empty seats on the train at the start of term had struck her hard, and she had sent an owl soon after arriving at the castle just to tell the family that she loved them.

Sighing, Harry opened his eyes and looked around the dying garden. He understood what all of them were going through – Fred had been as much of a brother to him as George and Ron had been, and he felt his loss keenly. But, much like George, it seemed, Harry was ready to move on. Fred. Sirius. Remus. All of them would have wanted better than _this_ for those they loved. Lives put on hold rather than lived; it was hardly a way to thank them for their sacrifices, and moving on did not mean forgetting them. Being surrounded by a family that wasn't ready to let go of the past just yet made it difficult, though. Unlike George, Harry had nowhere readily available to go, other than Grimmauld Place, which he refused to consider as an option. If it weren't for the fact that the house had belonged to Sirius, he probably would have tried to sell it off.

He had more than enough gold to find himself a flat and maintain it while he worked out where to go from there, but there was always the concern that he'd take too long to figure it out. He'd had too much of death and darkness to want to be an Auror any longer, and although Quidditch was enjoyable, he couldn't imagine it as a career. Beyond either of those options, he didn't know where to start or what he might have a hope at being qualified to pursue, and it was almost impossible to get Hermione alone long enough to ask for her opinion, let alone get it without having to explain to her that he wanted to move on with his life.

A sharp _crack_ of Apparition in the kitchen drew Harry out of his musing, startling him and causing him to crack his head against the wall behind him. Frowning and reaching his hand up to rub the back of his head, he glanced up at the kitchen window above him and listened to the sound of someone rummaging around in the kitchen. He started to push himself up from his position, assuming it was Ron, but stopped when he heard Molly's voice from inside.

"Arthur!" Molly’s voice was followed by the sound of the refrigerator closing, and Harry could hear her shuffling across the kitchen floor. "Thank Merlin, you're all right. Was anything wrong about the house? Did anything happen to you?"

"Everything was fine, Molly," Arthur answered. "The house was all in order."

Harry's brow furrowed at Arthur's tone, recognizing that something wasn't quite right about it, although it was difficult to tell without being able to see him. Once again, he started to rise, but then stopped himself, suspecting Arthur might talk more freely to Molly alone than he would with Harry or anyone else in the room. Settling himself down in the grass again, he pressed his back as flat to the wall as he could, just in case either of them happened to glance out into the garden. He could easily claim to have dozed off in his hiding place, but being caught around at all ran the risk of losing the opportunity to listen in on the conversation.

Harry had learned quickly that Arthur was someone who very much wore his emotions on his sleeve. To hear him sounding strained and not entirely like himself was a plain sign to Harry that _something_ wasn't right. Molly seemed to pick up on the strange note in his voice as well, and Harry heard her make the same huffing sound she always did when she disapproved of something, imagining her placing her hands on her hips and giving Arthur her 'stern' look.

"Well, you _hardly_ sound as though everything was fine. _What happened_ , Arthur?"

"Nothing." Arthur's answer was firm, and even from outside, Harry swore he could almost feel the tension in the room. There was a brief rustling sound and then Molly gasped softly, all traces of annoyance leaving her tone when she spoke again.

"You found it... Was it difficult to locate?"

"No. It was actually much easier than I expected."

There was a short pause before Molly spoke again, her voice soft and nearly inaudible. "Look at him, Arthur... He looks so happy." She cleared her throat rather loudly and added, "It's a bit dusty. Perhaps I ought to visit and give the place a good cleaning. Merlin knows it hasn't seen one for long enough."

"No," Arthur said quickly, his tone suddenly harsher than Harry had ever heard.

"You must admit that it's long overdue, Arthur-"

" _No_ ," Arthur repeated. This time, his voice sounded strained, almost desperate, and Harry pursed his lips as he listened. Rather than push him to speak, however, Molly murmured words of agreement. A chair from the dining table scraped across the floor, and within a moment, the sounds of Molly fussing about in the kitchen were all that Harry could hear through the window.

Sighing softly, Harry leaned back against the wall again and closed his eyes, turning what little conversation there had been over in his mind. He'd known that Arthur was going to visit Grimmauld Place – Molly had been going on about a photograph of Fred for the past week, and they'd torn apart half the Burrow searching for it before realizing where it was – but his silence about his afternoon there did not sit well with Harry. It wasn't like Arthur to be quite so closed off to his family, and least of all, to Molly. The fact that he was now not only pushing her away and refusing to talk, but also snapping at her, was worrisome.

Harry tugged his jacket tighter around himself as a breeze picked up, considering going inside until he realized that it might raise too many questions, especially from Molly, who would fuss over him if he claimed he'd dozed off out in the garden now. Instead, he pulled his knees up towards his chest and huddled up against the cold, regretting leaving his wand upstairs as he listened to the sounds inside. It took the better part of an hour for Molly to leave the room, and Harry waited for a few more minutes before he stood, stretching to ease the aches in his muscles from staying so long in the same position, and made his way to the door.

Arthur was still at the table when he stepped inside, and immediately looked up to meet Harry's eyes. "Harry. When did you get here?"

Harry shrugged, but before he could come up with an answer, Harry saw understanding dawn in Arthur's expression as he straightened in his seat. Making his way towards the table, Harry sat in the empty chair across from him and folded his hands on the table.

"What happened at the house, Arthur?" he asked quietly, able to hear Molly fussing about on the upper floor, but still wanting to keep the conversation out of her earshot. Whatever had happened, Arthur clearly didn't want her to know about it. Rather than change his answer, however, Arthur shook his head, picking up the mug in front of him and taking a sip from it.

"As I'm sure you've already heard, Harry, nothing happened there. Everything appeared to be in order."

"Arthur-"

Harry fell silent as Arthur raised a hand to stop him, meeting his eyes as Arthur lowered his hand again and curled it around his mug. "I don't know what you think you know, or what you are suspecting, but I would ask that you not ask about this any further. I have given you my answer, and it will not change, Harry. Leave it be."

For a long moment, Harry remained silent and pursed his lips, turning Arthur's words over in his mind. There was a myriad of possibilities for what could be making Arthur so tight-lipped about Grimmauld Place, though most of them did not make sense. If there had been Death Eaters, or even some trap laid by them, it would have been no matter for him to say as much to Molly, or to him – they had all expected that that might be the case. The only explanation was that Arthur was trying to save his wife from worrying that he'd been hurt, but that, too, fell flat when Harry reminded himself that there was no reason Arthur couldn't tell _him_. Unless, of course, the danger at the house was more than just a few nasty hexes left over from the Death Eaters. Realizing that he wasn't likely to get any more of an answer out of Arthur, Harry reluctantly nodded, and a moment later, Molly re-entered the kitchen with a basket of laundry Levitating behind her.

* * *

Harry tried for the better part of a week to catch Arthur alone and glean some more answers from him, but none were forthcoming. No one else seemed to find anything odd about Arthur's refusal to discuss his visit to Grimmauld Place, and although he had considered it, Harry decided not to mention his own concerns to any of them. Hermione might have listened, but with the general consensus seeming to be that all was well, Harry doubted that she would take his worries too seriously.

Instead, Harry thought to find out for himself what was going on. He started by checking the photograph for any signs of hexes, but to his surprise, it came up clean. After that, he began paying closer attention to Arthur – the way he behaved and the way he talked – but it quickly became clear that there was nothing wrong with him. In fact, the only time that Arthur seemed at all unlike himself was when Harry attempted to bring up the house with him. Arthur's steadfast refusal to discuss anything about his visit with _anyone_ compounded Harry's concerns that the house was dangerous, because while he would not have made it there and home again unharmed if it was, that did not mean that there was not something else out of the ordinary there, and at the very end of November, Harry had made the decision to inspect Grimmauld Place himself.

Although it crossed his mind that he should not go alone, in case something _was_ wrong, he dismissed the thought in the end. If Arthur caught wind of his intentions, Harry was certain that he would try to stop him. Rather than risk a similar issue by telling anyone where or when he was going, he waited until Arthur had left for work and then slipped out of the house unnoticed in the early morning, moving far enough away from the house to keep from being heard when he Apparated away.

The first thing that Harry noticed upon arriving at Grimmauld Place was the unusually warm temperature inside the house. As the door clicked closed behind him, he felt the chill from outside quickly melt away as he was met with a rush of warm air, reminiscent of a good summer’s day. Furrowing his brow in confusion, Harry paused long enough to tug off his jacket and drape it over a coat hook beside the door. It did little to cool him off, however, and after casting a quick cooling charm over himself, he proceeded forward, moving towards the kitchen and the stairway that led to the upper floors.

To his surprise, the stairs did not creak beneath him the way they used to as he made his way up them. A few of the ancient boards still groaned quietly beneath his weight, but even that sound seemed softer than it once had. As he reached the top of the stairs, Harry paused, shaking off the niggling sensation at the back of his mind that something was 'off' about the house now, and looked around. Despite the fact that Arthur had steadfastly refused to discuss anything about his visit to the house, with _anyone_ , Harry was confident that there was nothing sinister at work, since Arthur had made it here and home again unharmed.

Harry moved further into the sitting room, circling around and breathing in the familiar feeling of being there again, almost feeling as though he was 'home'. Although he hadn't set foot in the place since it had been compromised – and before then, hadn't spent a significant amount of time within its walls – Grimmauld Place had always held a special place in his heart, simply for having been Sirius' home. The home he _could_ have grown up in, had things been different.

Sighing and shaking his head to rid himself of that particular train of thought, Harry moved towards the mantel over the fireplace and then hesitated. A picture frame had once rested there, at one corner, with a moving photograph of Sirius, Remus, and James, not long after their final year of Hogwarts, with the three of them grinning and jostling each other as they waved at the camera. He recalled looking at it on multiple occasions during his time there, especially in the days before the infiltration of the Ministry, and he was positive that Hermione had not dropped it into that bag of hers before they'd gone. Now, though, there was only empty space where the frame had stood.

Harry muttered a curse under his breath and then prepared to call for Kreacher, intent on demanding the photograph be returned – because he had no doubt that, given the 'unoccupied' state of the house, the elf would have thought it harmless to knick and possibly toss out the picture of his former, hated master – when he heard a noise on the floor above him. Falling silent, he tipped his head back and looked up at the ceiling, as though he might suddenly see through it to the source of the sound, which was most certainly that of footsteps moving across the floor from one of the back bedrooms towards the staircase. It was not the slow, shuffling gait of Kreacher, and was much too loud to have been him anyway, but had the steady stride of a person.

He almost considered calling out to see who it was, before thinking better of it. As he threw himself behind the ancient sofa and peeked around to get a view of the bottom of the stairs, Harry's mind raced through the various possibilities of who could be walking through the house. Although he had refused to discuss his visit, Arthur _had_ been quick to veto Molly's suggestion that she come by the house to give it 'a long overdue clean', making Harry certain that it was not likely to be Arthur, or really any other member of the Weasley family. Another member of the Order was a possibility, since all of them knew of the house's location, but as far as he knew, none of them would have been inclined to drop by and wander about the place.

Which left only one explanation in Harry's mind, and he quickly slipped his wand out of a pocket of his jeans, gripping it tight in hand as he watched the staircase across the room. He held his breath as he listened to the footsteps above him, bringing his free hand down to the floor under him, meaning to steady himself so that he could lean farther forward for a better view, when his hand connected with something dry that crunched beneath his palm. Drawing his hand back, Harry looked down, his brow furrowing as he plucked up the strange-looking scrap.

It had a waxy, paper-like texture, and upon closer inspection, Harry was able to identify it as shed snake skin, despite the fact it lacked the usual shape of a shedding. The piece was fairly flat and a decent size, and Harry shuddered as he dropped it onto the floor again. Only a large snake could have left something that size behind, and for a moment, Harry wondered whether Voldemort had ever come to Grimmauld Place with Nagini, after the house was compromised. Shaking his head, he tightened his grip on his wand and strained his ears to listen for any sound that might indicate that a snake was still inside the house.

When there was nothing but the creak of the stairs as someone descended them, though, he relaxed, and edged his wand around the end of the sofa as he watched the bottom of the stairs. A pair of dragonhide boots appeared in his line of sight, and as they came down another couple of steps, Harry popped up from behind the sofa with an _Expelliarmus_ on his lips. The figure on the stairs made a startled sound, and Harry reached out to catch the wand that came sailing towards him, tucking it away as he levelled his own at the man in front of him, only to falter and drop his arm in surprise.

" _Snape?_ "

The man in front of him resembled his former professor in height and build, the lean figure seeming to loom over him even with the distance between them. Lank strands of greasy hair hung around the man's face, and the dark eyes that had glared at him countless times over the years were doing so again. But gone was the sallow, pale skin that had prompted so many muttered insults and vampire rumours amongst the students at Hogwarts. Instead, his face was dark, covered in glossy, textured skin in a shade of green so dark, it bordered on being black; the colouring was strangely reminiscent of Nagini's skin, and Harry failed to repress a shudder at that thought.

"Potter." The man spat his name, and Harry recognized his voice easily, furrowing his brow and raising his wand again as he took a small step back. Snape, however, never moved from his place on the last step of the staircase. "I suppose I really shouldn't be surprised."

There was a strange sibilance to his words, as though he dragged a beat too long on every 's', not quite hissing them, but close. Swallowing back a wave of nerves, Harry's hand tightened on his wand. Snape's gaze flickered to his hand and back to his face, somehow looking cautious and disinterested at once as he moved down off the stair, bringing his arms up from his sides to fold them over his chest. The sleeves of his robes rode up a bit as he moved, revealing his hands for a brief moment, before he tucked them out of sight beneath his clothed arms. The same, dark snake skin that covered Snape's face was visible on the backs of his hands, where it seemed to meld into 'normal' skin, leaving his fingers as they had always been, long, bony, and pale.

As he returned his gaze to Snape's face, Harry found the older man glaring at him and refused to shrink back as he met his eyes. "I watched you die." He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth, realizing that he sounded stunned, and as though he was stating the obvious, rather than making some sort of accusation, as he'd intended. Snape seemed to read the same into his tone, because he swore he watched one corner of the man's mouth twitch. It may well have been a figment of his imagination, though, as Snape's voice came out cold and steely, without any trace of amusement when he spoke.

"Actually, Potter, you _left_ me to die." Stepping closer, Snape considered Harry with dark eyes, and Harry found himself countering his movements, keeping the sofa between them and his wand at the ready. "If you, or either of your _friends_ , had thought to look any further than the bleeding wound on my neck, you might have realized that I was still very much alive when you abandoned me in the Shack."

Harry made a startled sound as Snape held out a hand and Summoned his wand without a word. He made a desperate, futile grab for the wand as it sailed out of his grasp, and watched as Snape's pale fingers curled around the handle. To his surprise, Snape did not raise his wand to challenge Harry, but nor did he pocket it. Instead, he met Harry's eyes unflinchingly, with his hand resting at his side and wand pointed towards the floor.

"So you survived..." Harry said, unnecessarily. Snape gave him a look which spoke volumes, as though the man couldn't believe that Harry had just said those words. Straightening his shoulders, Harry refused to give Snape the satisfaction of seeing him back down, and instead looked him over once, taking in how different he appeared from the dark figure who had antagonized him throughout all his years at Hogwarts. Harry shook his head after a moment. "Merlin, have you _always_ looked like that?"

"Yes, Potter," Snape answered without hesitation, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Clearly your eyesight is so deplorable that six years of teaching you was not long enough for you to notice that I have _snake skin_. _No_ , I have not always looked like this!"

Harry had the grace to flush for a moment, realizing after the fact that it was a foolish question, but just as quickly as that thought flitted through his mind, it was replaced by a rush of anger for Snape's condescending reply. Glaring up at Snape, he snapped back, "I learned enough at Hogwarts to know that it's not that hard to disguise your appearance with the right spell or potion, _Snape_." He emphasized the man's name, taking pleasure for a moment in the fact he no longer had a title of authority over him.

Snape's lips, barely discernible from the rest of his face with the same dark snake skin over them, peeled back to bare his teeth in a sneer. "It's good to know that your education was not a _complete_ waste of time for all involved, then." Harry bristled at that comment, his grip on his wand tightening in anger and his eyes narrowing, but his mouth stayed shut for a beat too long as he struggled for a reply. Before he was able to think of one, Snape continued, the brief look of satisfaction he'd had in Harry's silence disappearing to be replaced by an unreadable expression. "Why are you here, Potter?" 

As soon as Harry opened his mouth, he added, "Yes, I am aware that this is your house.” Harry’s mouth snapped shut again at Snape’s seeming to read his mind, although he supposed that it would have been the obvious retort, after Snape's sniping at him a moment earlier. "What I wish to know is why you have returned to it. I was led to believe you had no desire to reside here, let alone pay a casual visit simply for nostalgia's sake."

Harry frowned for a moment, wondering how Snape could possibly know whether or not he'd made plans to come back to Grimmauld Place before the answer came to him. _Arthur_. Suddenly, the pieces of that puzzle clicked into place, and Harry's expression shifted in an instant from confusion to an accusation as he looked at Snape.

"Arthur..." he murmured aloud, as though he needed to hear the name to cement the realization in his mind. Something flickered in Snape's gaze, but as quick as it came, he masked it again, which only confirmed Harry's suspicions as he took a step closer to him, an inexplicable wave of anger crashing over him. "You saw him, didn't you? When he came here. And he saw _you_."

Snape's lips pursed, but otherwise, his expression was unreadable, his voice cool and level when he responded. "Is this your own assumption, Mr Potter, or do you have other reason to believe that was the case?" It seemed as though Snape was holding his breath, although with the way he hardly seemed to move as it was, Harry couldn't be sure and chalked it up to his imagination as he shook his head.

"It's obvious enough. I know that Arthur came here a couple days ago, and he wouldn't speak a word to anyone about the place."

"And, naturally, you took that as encouragement to rush into a potentially dangerous location in an effort to discover _why_ , never thinking that perhaps there was a rather good reason for his silence." Snape's tone bordered on bored, but the look he gave Harry was pointed and made his earlier feeling of anger surge again.

"I took it as a sign that something was _wrong_ here," Harry snapped. "And clearly I was correct, since it seems you've taken up residence here since the night of the Battle." He paused and took a breath to compose himself a little more, eyeing Snape suspiciously. "What did you do to buy his silence, anyway? I know you didn't Obliviate him, or everyone would have known something had happened."

"I did not _buy_ his silence with anything. Bought silence is never reliable enough. I _ensured_ it, and the method I used to do so is none of your concern."

"Bollocks it isn't! He's my bloody family, not that I'd expect you to understand something like that." Harry raised his wand arm and watched as Snape did the same, just a second ahead of him. The _Expelliarmus_ hit him before he was able to defend himself, and his wand was snatched out of his grasp by the spell, soaring into Snape's waiting hand.

"Whatever agreement Arthur and I made was entirely consensual on his part, Mr Potter, I will assure you of that, and no harm came to him because of it. I'm afraid that it _will_ , however, if you attempt to leave here, now."

Harry's eyes widened a fraction. " _What?_ You can't keep me here against my will, Snape. This is _my_ bloody house!"

"Indeed it is. But that has not prevented _me_ from taking up residence here, or setting my own wards around it," Snape replied in a cool tone, turning Harry's wand over in his hand. "I imagine it would have been much better for me if I had been able to reset the wards fully _before_ Arthur visited, but I doubt it will cause any trouble in the long run. I've taken every precaution, now, to ensure no one is able to locate the house. With one exception, of course." Snape's lips pulled down at the corners into a scowl as he looked at Harry. " _You_."

"It seems the Black family wards already in place are stronger than I anticipated, and prevent me from warding against entry by the rightful owner of the home. They do not, however, stop me from warding you _inside_ the house."

Harry's anger flared once more and he moved closer to Snape to make a grab for his wand. "You think I couldn't unravel your wards, Snape?" he growled, fisting his hands at his sides when Snape easily evaded being touched, surprised by the speed at which he moved.

" _Do not_ test me, Potter," Snape hissed. "You might try, and on the slim chance that you were able to succeed, do you truly believe that I would have no other fail-safe in place to discourage you from doing so? Allow me to make this a bit clearer, so that we are certain to understand one another."

Harry took a step back as Snape took one forward, advancing on him and forcing him to back up until he bashed the backs of his legs against the coffee table, reaching out and catching himself on the sofa before he stumbled. By the time he'd regained his balance, Snape stood nearly nose-to-nose with him.

"One of the few benefits of spending years in service to the Dark Lord is that one tends to discover some rather interesting methods of ensuring someone's silence. Including curse work that can lie dormant for years, until the caster chooses to trigger it. So, from this moment on, Potter, you will not leave this house, and you will not attempt to contact anyone outside of it. And if you choose to test me in this, then you will be endangering Arthur's life. Do I make myself clear?"

The last words were spoken in a snarl, and Harry stared Snape down for a long moment. It crossed his mind that Snape might be bluffing, offering him an empty threat in an effort to frighten him into compliance. For a moment, he considered saying as much, knowing that Snape was a talented enough liar to be convincing even if what he was saying wasn't true, but he stopped short and shut his mouth with the words dying unspoken on his tongue. Whatever he knew of Snape's ability to lie and present himself as a cruel and evil man, Harry also knew that there was potential within him for all of it to be sincere, as well – he had joined the Death Eaters on his own, initially, and maintained his cover flawlessly there even after changing sides. If such spell work was possible, Harry had no doubt that Snape not only knew of it, but was capable of executing it, and after another moment of glaring at him in challenge, his lips pulled into a thin line and he nodded.

" _Very_."

"In that case-" Snape handed Harry his wand back, holding it by the handle to offer him the tip to take it. Harry scowled at that, snatching his wand out of Snape's grasp. "I imagine that you are capable of finding your way around without a chaperone, Potter. For your information, the second door on the topmost landing leads to the room I use. Do avoid it, as I am certain you would not enjoy the consequences of doing otherwise."

Without waiting for a reply from him, Snape turned on his heel and stalked away from Harry, turning his back on him with no hesitation. The confidence with which he did, knowing Harry was armed again, spoke volumes, and Harry made no effort to attack him, tucking his wand into a pocket and waiting until he heard Snape's steps leave the stairs behind to lash out at the sofa with his foot. His trainer connected with one end of it, though it did more damage to his toes than to the sofa, and he winced, muttering a curse under his breath.

Again, it crossed his mind that perhaps Snape was having him on about the curse and the danger to Arthur if he challenged him, and just to satisfy himself, Harry moved towards the Floo. The bowl of powder was empty, though, and he wasn't certain whether that was a good thing or not. Angry with himself for winding up in this situation, and with Snape for whatever he had done to Arthur and for keeping him here, Harry threw the bowl into the fireplace with all his strength, watching it shatter against the stones at the back.

Harry stood and frowned down at the pieces of the bowl for a long moment, before he finally drew his wand and, with a sigh, repaired it and Levitated it back to its usual place on the mantel. Satisfied that he'd removed the evidence of his temper, Harry hesitated, considering stalking off after Snape before thinking better of it, knowing that he would not be able to hold his tongue. Instead, he stomped off up the stairs and made his way to the fourth floor, stopping in the hall between the room that Snape had laid claim to and Sirius' room. He reached for the knob of Snape's door, but stopped himself short of opening it, remembering Snape's threat, and with a scowl, yanked open Sirius' door, slamming it loudly behind himself. If Snape was going to attempt to make him a prisoner in his own house, Harry could at least force him to deal with his presence by occupying the room across from his.

* * *

For the first few days, Harry had holed himself up inside his room, torn between his desire to antagonize Snape in hopes of being allowed to leave, and his anger over the situation. Anger had won out at first, and by the time it had faded enough for him to bring himself to leave Sirius' old bedroom and venture out into the rest of Grimmauld Place, he wondered if Snape had perhaps forgotten he was there. Not that he'd had much hope of that happening, which he'd quickly realized the first day he made his way downstairs. Snape was quick to mark out his own 'territory' within the house, and after exchanging insults off and on for the better part of two days, Harry had given up on going anywhere near whatever room Snape currently occupied. It took him more than a week to become fed up with it all.

It was rather strange, going downstairs to the kitchen again. That room had become sort of a forbidden zone since he'd entered the house, not only because of Snape, but also because there was really no need for him to use it now – he and Snape took their meals separately, whenever Kreacher decided it was time for them to eat, and always wherever they were when the elf found them. Without a family or friends to sit around the table with, Harry saw no point in using it at all, when his lap or the coffee table in the sitting room worked just as well. More than that, though, was that Snape made a habit of hovering in the kitchen to tend to the window box, and when he wasn't there, he was only a few feet away, down the stairs in the cellar. It was the one room Harry had started to think of most as Snape's space, more so than even the bedroom he occupied, and had been avoiding it at all costs, until the realization that he was allowing Snape to have the run of his home like that began to eat at him.

Snape had never expressly tried to keep him out of the kitchen, but he had also never encouraged him to enter it, either. Stepping into the room now, he took advantage of the opportunity to look around, and his gaze immediately fell on the window where Snape stood, tending to his camellia flowers. Snape's back was to him, his posture was rigid, and Harry suspected that Snape knew that he was in the room, despite the fact that he hadn't said anything. Curious, Harry moved closer to Snape and the window, leaving ample space between them as he stopped to look at the window box.

"How are you even growing these?" Harry asked, peering closely at the white blooms. He reached his hand out to touch one of the flowers, only to have Snape catch his wrist in a vice-like grip, jerking his hand away from the plants. Tipping his face up to glare at Snape, Harry pulled his arm free of his grasp. "Camellias grow on small trees, not in single blooms like this."

" _Magic_ , Mr Potter. Surely that concept is not still so foreign to you?"

Harry bit his tongue as Snape sneered at him, meeting his eyes defiantly as he reached to touch one of the camellias again. Snape moved faster than he expected, though, and caught his wrist again, gripping him tighter than before. He felt blunt nails dig into his flesh and hissed, trying to jerk out of Snape's hold. Instead, he found himself being gripped tighter as Snape pulled sharply at his arm, causing Harry to stumble forward a step. Snape bent down to put them nose-to-nose, his lips pulled back in something akin to a snarl, and his eyes – the dark irises slitted like a snake's – narrowed in anger.

" _Do not_ touch them," Snape hissed. The dangerous tone to Snape's voice promised unpleasant consequences if Harry disobeyed, and he found himself nodding in spite of himself and attempting to shrink back from him. Apparently satisfied by the response, Snape released him, wiping his palm against his robes as though touching Harry had left him feeling unclean. Angered by the action, Harry folded his arms over his chest and glared up at Snape once again.

"Is there anything else in _my house_ that you would like me not to touch, Snape?"

He had expected more sneering, or for the man to snap right back at him with insults and digs at his intelligence or his fame, or even some snide remark about being his father's son. Instead, Snape looked calmly back at him as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his robes. It was a regular habit, Harry had noticed. Snape always seemed to keep as much of his skin hidden from view as possible, and, more often than not, it was only his face that was ever visible for more than a few moments at a time. Even that, he often hid behind the curtain of his hair, or by pulling up his hood whenever Harry shared a room with him.

"So long as you keep away from harming my flowers, and do not enter the room that I have made my own, then as you've said, Potter, it is _your_ house. You may touch what you will."

Startled by the answer, Harry's anger faded as he blinked owlishly behind his glasses. Snape met his gaze for a moment longer, and when Harry did not speak, turned sharply on his heel and strode from the room, his robes billowing out behind him in a familiar fashion. Away from Hogwarts, Harry found the effect rather comical and bit down on his lower lip to keep from laughing. He heard footsteps on the stairs as Snape climbed them, and then silence, as he moved out of earshot of the kitchen.

Harry remained standing where he'd been long enough to listen for any sign that Snape might be coming back down, before he moved to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair, dropping himself heavily down into it. Propping his elbows up on the table, he placed his chin on his hands with a sigh and took his first real look around the room. Other than the window box, there was nothing that would indicate the room was ever even used. If Harry hadn't known better, he might have assumed that the flowers had been something Kreacher grew, had he not encountered Snape within the house. Somehow, even knowing that it was true, the thought that _Snape_ , of all people, was the one responsible for growing them was harder to believe.

With pristine white petals, all carefully pruned and kept, the camellias were not something Harry ever would have expected a man like Snape to grow – if he could imagine him doing any sort of gardening at all. For a moment, he considered approaching the plants again, now that Snape wasn't there to stop him from doing so, to touch them and see if there was something strange or special about them. They appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary, with the exception of the way they grew, but looks could be deceiving. He quickly dismissed the idea, however, with the thought that Snape very likely had _some_ sort of protective charms around the box that would either harm Harry, or alert Snape that the plants had been disturbed.

He contented himself, instead, to sit at the table and observe them for a moment before getting up. The cellar door was ajar, and Harry made his way towards that, peering down the stairs. When he was unable to see anything in the darkness below, he lit his wand with a murmured _Lumos_ and descended the stairs, looking around the converted lab space.

One wall was covered by a wooden structure that Harry could only assume had once been a wine rack. Now, bottles of ingredients were neatly arranged in it instead, the converted shelves holding them upright, and Harry stepped closer to examine the stores. While there appeared to be a wide variety of ingredients, there weren't more than two bottles of any one thing, and most of them had only one. The bottles ranged from being nearly full to nearly empty, and Harry reached out to pluck one off the shelf and turned it over in his hands. He checked another after he replaced the first, followed by another, before realizing that none of them were especially rare – all common ingredients that Snape very easily could have found or even swiped from his own stores at Hogwarts before coming here, and stretched his supply to last.

Harry moved away from the rack and peered at the set of cauldrons stacked up against the wall, and then at the arrangement of items on the table which dominated the centre of the room. Knives, a few stirring rods, and a few other objects for brewing or decanting potions were littered on the table's surface, as well as a stand for the cauldrons with a burner beneath, which appeared to have been recently used. He started to turn away, finding nothing much of interest, when his eye caught on a half-full bottle sitting on the opposite side of the cauldron stand. It was unlabelled, and with the coloured glass, it was difficult to discern what colour the potion inside was. Frowning, Harry reached over and picked it up, sniffing curiously.

"You do realize how incredibly dangerous and foolish that is, do you not?"

Harry started at the sound of Snape's voice, nearly dropping the bottle in his hand and just managing to catch it before it could shatter on the stone floor.

"Of course, I suppose I should expect such idiotic displays. You always have had a habit of believing yourself invincible, or perhaps you simply lack common sense?"

Placing the potion back on the table, Harry turned and glared at Snape. " _Or_ , I assumed that you wouldn't be brewing anything deadly in the house, considering it wouldn't do you any good here. With no one else to brew _for_ , and all."

"Was that logic, Mr Potter? How surprising. I had almost assumed you were incapable of such a feat."

"What is it?" Harry asked sharply, rather than respond to the insult. He saw Snape's lips twitch as he took on a satisfied expression, though, and narrowed his eyes to glare at him. Ignoring the question, Snape moved towards him, sidestepping Harry and reaching a hand out to snatch up the bottle, finding the stopper for it, which had rolled under the cauldron stand, and fitting it in place. " _Well?_ "

"It is a potion, Potter, and that is really all that you need know. In case you failed to notice, this has been converted into a lab space. One would assume that I have been using it as such."

"What I _meant_ was what sort of potion is it?" Harry demanded. "You've as good as agreed that it isn't anything dangerous, and I doubt you have any reason to be brewing something all that important anymore – you don't really have the ingredients for much more than a few basic things, anyway." Harry allowed himself a satisfied look of his own as he met Snape's eyes, hoping that showing that he actually _did_ know something of potions might put an end to his insults, at least for a moment. Instead, Snape smirked at him and pocketed the potion.

"Since you are so confident in your knowledge of what I could or could not be brewing, then I should hardly have to answer your question. Surely you will deduce the answer on your own, with that astounding intelligence of yours."

Snape strode away without another word, and Harry was caught too off-guard by the reply to think of a response until he heard the door at the top of the stairs close. Muttering a curse under his breath, he stomped up the stairs and yanked open the door, worrying for a fleeting moment that perhaps Snape would have warded him in from the other side, but the door opened at the first turn of the doorknob. The kitchen was empty, though, and Harry heard the _thud_ of footsteps crossing overhead, and he turned and kicked the cellar door closed in annoyance, stalking off up to the sitting room to throw himself down on the sofa.

* * *

"Not that I don't appreciate it, what with the weather like it is," Harry started as he strode into the sitting room to drop himself onto the sofa. Snape didn't raise his eyes from the book he was reading, although Harry noticed that he subtly moved to shake the sleeves of his robes down over his hands. "But why exactly do we have to keep the house _this_ bloody warm? It's a bit stifling."

"For you, perhaps," Snape replied in a level tone. That it came without any sort of sarcasm was a step in the right direction, and Harry shifted, watching him in the armchair as he turned a page in his book. When it was clear that he wasn't going to say anything else, Harry sighed and moved to the end of the sofa, folding his arms on the arm of it and stretching out across the cushions on his stomach.

"You don't think it's a bit warm?"

Snape made a sound of annoyance, looking up from his book to meet Harry's eyes. "You went to a Muggle school prior to Hogwarts, Potter. _Surely_ you must have learned _something_ of snakes during that time?"

"Well, I suppose, but-"

"They can't regulate their own body temperature," Snape interrupted, his tone taking on a biting edge. " _I_ can't." He lowered his attention back to his book and continued after taking a breath, though his voice still sounded tight and strained. "I tried to use warming charms at first, but they are not strong enough to keep my temperature up for long, and if they happen to fail while I am asleep, it is difficult to wake, let alone reach for my wand to renew them. And a fire, unless I stay immediately near it, will not warm the room quite enough."

"How warm do you really need it to be, though?" Harry asked. Snape shot him a look and he hastened to add, "I just mean, snakes don't need to be quite as warm as people, do they?"

"If I did not still have limbs that were unaffected by my... _condition_ , then I could likely lower it a few degrees. But seeing as the entire lower half of my body was saved, at least from any outward change, I prefer not to take the risk."

Harry was taken aback by the answer, shifting up onto his elbows and propping his chin in his hands. "I didn't realize that you didn't look like that everywhere," he said without thinking, and then hastened to add, "I know your fingers are..." Frowning, he trailed off, uncertain what to say, and Snape beat him to it, speaking up in a cool tone.

"I believe the word you are searching for is 'normal', Potter."

"No," Harry said sharply, earning himself an arched eyebrow and incredulous look from Snape. "I mean, yes, but... no. It sounds insulting, doesn't it? Saying it like that."

"Yes, and that would certainly not be anything I am used to," Snape retorted. Harry looked at him and noticed that he'd dropped his attention to his book once again. As he watched, Snape adjusted his sleeves again, placing his hands close to the spine of his book and leaving his sleeves covering as much of his hands as possible, and the book casting a shadow over the rest.

"Snape-"

"Leave it, Potter."

Harry shook his head, opening his mouth to speak again. Before he could, Snape rose to his feet, snapping his book closed and stalking past Harry and the sofa for the stairs, ignoring Harry's request for him to stop. His boots _thud_ -ed softly on the stairs and then across the floor overhead before the sound disappeared as Snape's bedroom door closed with a loud slam. With a resigned sigh, Harry shifted over onto his back, folding his arms beneath his head and looking up at the ceiling.

He had been trying to avoid offending Snape for once, since it did neither of them any good to always be at each other's throats. But sharing a house with him, let alone a room, seemed to make it impossible to avoid, as Snape either kept away from him entirely, or found some way to antagonize him, no matter what he said. They had hardly had a single conversation since he arrived that lasted more than a few minutes, unless it degenerated into a slew of insults flying back and forth.

Annoyed and fed up with Snape running away after insulting him, Harry pushed to his feet and considered stomping off up the stairs after him. He started to make his way towards the stairs before he stopped, thinking through that course of action and realizing that it would do him no good. Most likely, Snape would have warded the door to his room, and added a Silencing Charm as well, if he didn't wish to deal with Harry. Even if he hadn't, Harry doubted Snape would open the door to speak to him, and if he was honest with himself, he had no idea what he might even _say_ to Snape, at this point. Sighing, Harry closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths until the worst of his anger had eased, and then calmly turned away from the stairs to make his way into the library instead. 

He spent a moment browsing the shelves, brushing his fingers along the dusty spines of ancient texts and old spellbooks. A few books from various members of the Order had made their way onto the shelves, crammed wherever they would fit – a used school book tucked beside a volume with the binding falling to pieces. A few Muggle novels wedged between Dark texts. It made for a strange mishmash of books to choose from, and after circling the room once, Harry settled in front of the shelf with the Muggle books, examining them curiously and wondering who would have placed them there.

Thrills and horror hardly seemed like Hermione's genre of choice. He could imagine Sirius reading them, though he had no idea whether Sirius ever really went out into Muggle London without being in canine form. Curious, Harry pulled one of the books off the shelf and turned it over in his hands, examining the inside sleeve of the front cover. He checked the others briefly before he settled on one to read, carrying it over to the small loveseat and taking a seat at one end, half-turned sideways. Pulling his feet up onto the second cushion, Harry propped the book against his thigh and began to read, immersing himself in the story and feeling his lingering frustrations towards Snape fading for a while.

* * *

The third floor of Grimmauld Place was largely unexplored by Harry for the first half of the month that he had been there. He'd crossed the landing only as a part of the walk to and from his bedroom on the topmost floor above, and had yet to venture into any of the rooms there. Thinking back on it, he supposed he hadn't been in some of them since his fifth year – he, Hermione, and Ron hadn't ventured into too many of the rooms beyond opening the doors to be sure the house was empty when they'd first come back during the war. It had been so long that, wandering the hallway now, with Snape holed up downstairs in the cellar lab, it was almost like exploring the floor for the first time.

Here and there along the hallway, old scraps of shed snake skin littered the floor, and Harry gently nudged them aside with the toe of his trainer. The crunching sound they always made beneath his shoes never failed to make him shudder, and it had become a habit to push them aside rather than step on them, now. Making his way slowly down the hall, Harry considered the closed doors, wondering which room to explore first, when one near the stairs caught his eye. Harry nudged the door open and took a look around the room as a wave of sadness washed over him.

Fred and George's old room was largely untouched. It had been cleared out, for the most part, when the Order had moved, but there were still a few things of theirs scattered around the space. The bedding was rumpled and messy, and as Harry stepped further into the room, he noticed the scraps of parchment scattered over the mattress and the floor. An empty Skiving Snackbox laid half-assembled on top of the dresser, with a few wrapped treats littered around it. Moving closer, Harry dropped himself heavily on the edge of the bed, taking in the room for a moment before dropping himself back across the mattress.

Closing his eyes, he could hear the twins' voices going back-and-forth in the way they always did, and gave himself a mental shake to push the memories away. Harry opened his eyes again and turned his head to one side, noticing the drawer of the bedside table was ajar. He rolled up onto his side and reached over to the drawer, fighting with it a moment to pull it open and peering inside curiously. A half-empty bag of peppermints was stuffed inside, and Harry reached in to pull one out, stuffing it into his mouth. The candy quickly began melting on his tongue and he snatched the bag out of the drawer.

He'd seen George munching on the treats on multiple occasions while he was working, and the taste of it on his tongue gave him a faint sense of home; something familiar to him after spending long weeks with George after the war. The feeling was bittersweet, providing him a sense of comfort, but also serving as a reminder of all the things outside of Grimmauld Place that he no longer had – all of his friends and family that he could no longer see. Quickly pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, Harry moved off the bed and stuffed the bag of peppermints into one pocket. He was already learning that it did him no good at all to argue with Snape about allowing him to leave, and dwelling on those things he missed did him even less.

Harry cast one last look around the room before he stepped out into the hall and tugged the door closed behind him. He made his way along the hall, peering into rooms and entering a few, although the majority of them had been cleared or were of little interest to him. Molly and Arthur's old room was a few doors down from the twins', and had been cleared of all but the bedspread, which Harry assumed had actually already been in the house, by the look of it, even through the thick layer of dust that had settled over the fabric. Shards of glass had been haphazardly swept towards the wall in the bathroom near the stairs that led up to the top landing, with several scraps of shed snake skin littering the tiled flooring.

Pulling that door closed sharply, Harry continued making his way along the hall to look into the other rooms. He found another emptied bedroom, and what he could only assume was meant to be a storage room of some sort, bare of furniture with the exception of a curio cabinet pushed up against a far wall. After he tugged the door shut, Harry paused in the hallway and strained his ears to listen for any sounds of movement from the lower floors. He couldn't hear Snape anywhere, though, and assumed he must still be down in the cellar. Harry hesitated for only a moment after that thought settled, before he made his way to the stairs that led to the fourth floor.

The door to Snape's room was shut tight and Harry reached out to curl his hand around the knob. He stood frozen for a moment, his hand gripping the bulb of brass as he waited for something to happen, and when it didn't, he twisted his hand and found the door unlocked. Pushing the door inwards, Harry stood in the doorway and looked around, taking in the overly-neat appearance of the room. The Slytherin décor had remained mostly untouched, although anything that had pertained to the Black family or Voldemort had been removed. A shelf against one wall was bowing beneath the weight of the books stacked upon it, and several more were overflowing in a haphazard stack on the bedside table. As he stepped further into the room, Harry gained a good look at the small desk resting up against the wall beneath the window, littered with sheets of parchment and the feathered tip of a quill poking out from beneath a few pages.

Curious, Harry circled the perimeter of the room once, running his fingers across the spines of books and even shuffling through the parchment before he moved away. He perched himself at the foot of the bed and swung his feet a bit until he heard something scuff across the floor beneath the bed and startled. Afraid Snape might have come up, his attention snapped first to the doorway, but found it empty. Pulling his feet up onto the bed, Harry shuffled about to lie on his stomach and lean forward over the edge of the bed until he could see beneath it. He spotted the shadow of something not far out of reach and shifted until he could reach his arm underneath the bed.

The mask was hard and cold beneath his hand as he dragged it across the floorboards. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, Harry set the mask in his lap and examined it closely, trailing his fingers over the smooth surface. For the most part, the mask was pure white and unmarked – three small openings in the lower half were positioned where the wearer's mouth would be, and the eyes were slitted. The only markings were around the eye holes, narrow lines of silver accented the shape, pulling into sharp tips that gave the elegant design a threatening edge.

" _Potter!_ "

Snape's sharp tone startled him, and Harry scrambled off the bed, momentarily forgetting about the mask in his lap until it clattered to the floor, the sound making him wince. Raising his gaze to Snape with some reluctance, he met his eyes and stood his ground as Snape advanced into the room. 

"Strange," he murmured, his voice just above a whisper, his tone hard and steely. "I seem to recall instructing you _not_ to ever enter my room. Perhaps I am mistaken, but I do not believe I have ever retracted that."

"I was just-"

"You were poking your nose about where it does not belong, Potter. You can hardly deny it when I find you in my own room with my mask in your hands."

Harry had no response to that. He considered retorting with an assertion that it is his house to begin with, but that argument seemed to fall flat, even to him. It was as much a matter of courtesy as anything, not to enter another person's room without their permission, home or not. Squaring his shoulders, he steeled himself for the angry tirade that he was certain was coming as Snape glared down his nose at him. Instead, Snape extended one hand, palm up, with an expectant expression.

"My mask, if you would."

Caught by surprise, Harry only stared at Snape for a moment before he crouched down and picked up the mask from where it had fallen on the floor. Snape snatched it out of his hand as he handed it over, and then moved aside, holding the mask in one hand and gesturing towards to door with the other. "Now, _get out_."

Harry didn't hesitate to obey, leaving the room as quickly as his feet would carry him and taking the stairs two at a time as he made his way down, through the third floor and down to the second. He stomped into the library and paced the length of the shelves to find the book he'd been reading, yanking it off the shelf and throwing himself onto the loveseat.

* * *

Waking up on Christmas morning in Grimmauld Place was no different than any of the previous days, much to Harry's disappointment. He had hoped, in the days leading up to the holiday, that Snape might give in to his nagging pleas to decorate the house, at least just for the day itself. With magic, it could have taken both of them only a couple of hours, and even if it had only been Harry, he could have done the house up himself in an evening. But Snape had refused to assist, and even gone as far as setting alight the strands of garland Harry had lain across the mantel of the fireplace, when he'd tried to decorate on his own. The ensuing fight had set them both stomping off to different areas of the house – Harry to his room, Snape down to the cellar – for the remainder of the night, and Harry hadn't bothered trying to bring some holiday cheer to any of the rooms other than his own again.

His bedroom, at least, had been lit with fairy lights the night before, and he'd hung a wreath on the back of the door, but otherwise, he had lost the majority of his desire to celebrate, with all the tension Snape had caused over it. Not that he could do much celebrating, trapped at Grimmauld Place. With the wards Snape had put in place around the house, there was no chance of sending any owls to tell anyone where he was, or even that he was alright, and it was equally impossible for him to send a Patronus, with the threats Snape had made if he attempted to make contact with anyone or leave the house. Doing so would have risked Arthur's life, and even on the chance that Snape might have been bluffing, it wasn't something that Harry was willing to test.

With a sigh, Harry stretched out in his bed, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before calling out loudly, "Kreacher!" The elf appeared with a _crack_ , standing beside the bed and bowing low. "Happy Christmas," he offered in greeting, and Kreacher only raised his head with an impatient expression. Harry sighed. "Is Snape downstairs?"

"Master Severus is tending to his flowers," Kreacher answered, and Harry rolled his eyes, still annoyed that Kreacher insisted on referring to Snape that way. He'd thought about ordering him not to, but the fact that Kreacher was at least being respectful – to him, _and_ to Snape – kept him from doing so. Shifting to sit up against the headboard, Harry frowned. He had no desire to spend the day holed up in his room, but the thought of going downstairs and spending Christmas in awkward and uncomfortable silence with Snape was just as unappealing. When he noticed Kreacher looking at him expectantly, he cleared his throat and asked for a hot chocolate, ignoring the look he received from the elf and settled back against the headboard when Kreacher Disapparated out of the room.

A moment later, he returned with a mug of hot chocolate, placing it on the bedside table Harry indicated and Disapparating again before Harry had even finished dismissing him. Shaking his head, Harry picked up the mug and wrapped his hands around it, letting the heat seep into his hands while he blew gently at the drink a few times and took a sip. His lingering sense of annoyance over the holiday began to fade while he slowly drained the mug, and by the time he placed it down on the table again, empty, he at least felt like he could go downstairs without attempting to hex Snape if he came near.

To his relief, the sitting room was empty when he made his way downstairs, and Harry wasted no time dropping himself down at one end of the sofa and stretching his legs out in front of him. Drawing his wand, he cast a charm on the piano tucked in the corner of the room to set it playing quietly, filling the room with Christmas songs. It didn't quite bring all the cheer he had hoped, but it was miles better than sitting in silence all day long, and Harry had at least been considerate enough of Snape's obvious dislike of the holiday to keep the music soft.

Picking up his book from where he’d left it, on the low coffee table in front of him, Harry settled against the back of the sofa again and flipped through the pages to find his place. He hummed softly under his breath to the tune the piano played while he read, missing the sound of footsteps on the stairs from the lower floor until the tall figure in the doorway caught his attention from the corner of his eye. With a muttered curse, he promptly silenced the piano with a wave of his wand, leaving his attention on his book while Snape crossed towards him, not looking up until Snape was standing on the other side of the table with a small, wrapped gift in his hands.

"What's this?" Harry asked as Snape set it in front of him. He stared at the object in front of him for a moment, taking in the blue wrapping paper, devoid of any sort of decoration, with a curious look. Reaching out, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands, noticing that whoever had wrapped it had seemed to take care to keep every corner crisp and sharp and hide all of the rough edges, the paper pulled tightly over the object beneath. There was no bow or ribbon on it, or even a tag to say who it was for or from, although the fact that Snape had handed it to him made that much obvious to Harry. Looking up at Snape, he realized that he was no longer meeting his eyes, looking off instead at the window across the sitting room from where they were.

"What does it look like, Potter? It is a... gift of sorts, I suppose." Snape's lips pulled into a thin line, and before Harry could think of anything to say, he had spun around on his heel and stalked back out of the room, ignoring Harry's protests.

Sighing, Harry listened to Snape's boots descend the stairs to the lower floors and leaned against the back of the sofa. He squeezed his eyes closed and took a breath, letting it out in a huff and releasing his frustration with it. For a moment, he contemplated placing the 'gift' down on the low table in front of him and refusing to accept it, since Snape was offering whatever it was to him with such obvious reluctance. But the fact that there was no reason at all for Snape to have given him anything in the first place brought Harry up short, and despite his annoyance with Snape, he tucked his fingers beneath the edges of the wrapping paper and began to tear it open.

The gift was rectangular and mostly flat, although there seemed to be a raised border on one face of it, less than an inch wide. It wasn't until he pulled the paper free, letting it fall to the floor at his feet, that he realized he was looking at the back of a picture frame. Turning it over in his hands, Harry's breath hitched briefly, and his hands tightened around the edges of the dark wood frame. The grinning faces of his father, Sirius, and Remus looked up at him for a second before his father bumped his shoulder against Sirius', who retaliated, and after another short back-and-forth, Remus was involved until the three of them were grinning and jostling each other around. They started to settle back into their original positions after several seconds, and the cycle repeated.

Amazed by the gesture, Harry set the frame down on the coffee table and watched the photograph for a few minutes longer before he stood. He made his way downstairs, peering into the kitchen to find Snape sitting at the table there with his hand curled around a ceramic mug. His head was bowed, his hair falling in a curtain in front of his face, and when Harry cleared his throat as he leaned against the door frame, Snape's attention snapped up to him, though he didn't speak.

"I wanted to say thank you for the picture. Or the frame, I guess. It was..." Harry trailed off and grasped for a word, shrugging after a moment and continuing, "It was nice of you. You didn't have to do that."

"I'm aware."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Harry pushed off from the door frame and stepped further into the kitchen, crossing to the table and pulling out the chair across from Snape to sit. He watched Snape adjusting his sleeves over his hands as usual and sighed, looking down at his own hands. "I know you don't like me being here. You've made it clear enough, and I'm not going to go on about wanting to leave, because I know you're not going to change your mind about that, no matter how much I annoy you. But at this point, we're sort of stuck together, aren't we?"

Harry paused, raising his gaze up to Snape again and asking, "Can we at least try getting on and make the best of this? I don't know about you, but I think I'll go mental if we keep this up. If we can't at least be in the same room together."

Snape was silent for several moments, until Harry was convinced that he wasn’t going to speak at all. He prepared to stand from the table and stopped when he saw Snape incline his head in a small nod, settling back into his chair and looking at him in surprise.

"I suppose you are correct. We _should_ be able to remain in the same room without an argument ensuing, and the fact that we cannot has become rather... frustrating." Harry bit his tongue to keep himself from interjecting that their arguments were largely due to Snape's attitude and simply nodded.

"Maybe keep our past where it belongs and just... start over, then?" Harry suggested. "Get to know each other a little?" When Severus nodded, Harry flashed a slightly awkward smile and stretched a hand out to him. "In that case, hello, m'name's Harry. And you are...?"

His smile didn't falter as Snape only stared at him, and finally he brushed away Harry's hand and stood. "Daft brat," Snape murmured with a shake of his head. But though Harry dropped his hand, he continued to smile with a bit more certainty.

Snape had actually sounded _amused_.

* * *

"Is there anything else Master Severus requires of Kreacher?"

Harry paused in the doorway of the sitting room and watched Snape wave a hand dismissively without looking at Kreacher.

"That will be all, thank you."

Kreacher bowed low and Disapparated with a sharp _crack_. Stepping into the room, Harry moved around to drop himself into the armchair, allowing Snape to keep the whole of the sofa to himself, and shifted about to drape his legs over one arm of the chair. "Why does he talk to you like that?"

"Surely you're aware that all house elves speak that way, Potter. You had one trailing you long enough in your younger years." Snape's gaze remained focussed on his book as he spoke, and Harry rolled his eyes, dropping his head back to hang upside down over a chair arm.

"I _meant_ why does he speak to you the same way he does to me? He never talked to Ron or Hermione like that while they were here, or anyone, for that matter. He treats you like he answers to you." Shaking his head, Harry sighed softly and looked up at the ceiling, suspecting he wouldn't get an answer. To his surprise, he heard Snape closing his book and setting it down, and turned his head to look at him, finding Snape looking back as he settled against the corner of the sofa.

"Do you not recall his presence at the Battle of Hogwarts?" Harry nodded. "You did not officially release him, but when he came to Hogwarts, he came under the control of the school's Headmaster. He answered to me, as much as he would have you, at that point. I suppose it is his choice, now, to continue to serve me at all. He has proven before that he is willing to bend the rules somewhat, when he is able."

"Since he was never freed from his service to Hogwarts, it could be argued that he is still obligated to serve its Headmaster, despite the fact that he was also never truly a Hogwarts house-elf. By that same token, I was never released from my position as the Headmaster. As far as I've come to understand, I was assumed dead and my position was simply given to Minerva, so it could be argued that I remain the rightful Headmaster of the school. I suspect that Kreacher uses both of those arguments to justify serving me."

"So he just chooses to?" Harry asked. Snape gave him a look as though that should have been obvious and inclined his head. " _Why_ , though?"

Snape looked away and shook his head, picking his book up again. "Honestly, Potter, you are quite dense, aren't you?" he asked sharply, opening the book back to his previous page and speaking without looking at Harry any longer. "You discovered what Regulus had done, before he was killed. Kreacher discovered that I had played a similar game, although much more subtly than his former master. Apparently he feels some sort of respect for me, for which I am actually rather grateful. If not for that, I would not be alive, now."

Harry's eyes widened slightly at that statement and he moved to sit upright, leaning forward and watching Snape. " _Kreacher_ is why you're alive?" Snape shot him another look and Harry hedged on despite it. "Tell me what happened. I've been wondering, but..."

"But you thought it rude to ask?" Snape supplied in a sarcastic tone, and Harry only shrugged. Silence fell between them for a moment and then Snape heaved a sigh and began speaking in a clipped tone. "It seems that he had suspected something might happen, and saw fit to follow me to the Shrieking Shack. When it became clear that neither you nor one of your friends intended to try to save me, he took it upon himself to do so. He Apparated me here and located a few of the potions I had left behind, one of which was the antivenin I had brewed for Arthur during your fifth year."

When Snape didn't elaborate any further, Harry prompted, "And it didn't work?"

"Of course it bloody worked, Potter, I'm _alive_ , aren't I?" Snape shook his head, tossing his book down onto the coffee table without marking his page. "The potion was old and improperly stored, once the Order abandoned the house. Rather than counteract the toxin, it fused the venom into my bloodstream. The result is what you see now." Rising to his feet, Snape spun sharply on his heel and stalked towards the stairs. "Now, Potter, if you do not mind, I believe I would appreciate some time alone."

Harry pursed his lips, considering following after Snape, but thought better of it, shaking his head and leaning against the back of his chair for a moment before he stood and approached the sofa. He'd obviously touched a sore subject with his questions, and wasn't about to push Snape any further by harassing him for more information. Dropping himself down onto the cushion Snape had vacated, he kicked his feet up onto the low table and reached out to pick up the book Snape had been reading, glancing at the cover and recognizing one of the Muggle books from the library. With a soft laugh of surprise, he flipped it open to the start and settled the book comfortably in his lap as he began to read.

* * *

"You know they searched for you, afterwards. Well, searched for your body." Harry shrugged. "Obviously, they found no trace of you, other than the blood all over the floor of the Shack. I think that's what bothered them the most."

"Of course it bothered them," Snape interrupted, plucking up a vial of something Harry didn't recognize and tipping it over the cauldron. "I imagine it was a rather difficult thing to explain, how the Aurors managed not to locate the body of a presumably dead man, especially when said body wasn't even on the grounds of Hogwarts, and couldn't possibly have been destroyed by an errant spell or collapsed wall."

Harry nodded. "They looked everywhere, really. Went as far as searching your house, too, not that they found much there." One corner of Snape's lip twitched in what Harry assumed was amusement. "You cleared it out before the Battle, didn't you?"

"I suppose you could say that. I cleared the majority of my things out well before that, actually. Shrunken and tucked away in the Headmaster's rooms, so that neither the Ministry nor any of the Dark Lord's followers could get their hands on any of it. Kreacher fetched it for me before anyone thought to clear the rooms, and anything left in my home was nothing I cared too much for."

"They thought someone had already raided the house. One of Voldemort's followers, once your true loyalty came out..."

"That has become common knowledge?" Snape asked, and Harry nodded.

"It took a little while for it to hit the Prophet, but..." He shrugged. "I saw your memories, I knew which side you were really on, in the end. I didn't think you deserved to be remembered as a Death Eater. You were - _are_ \- a hero."

Snape snorted and looked away from Harry, shaking his head as he stirred his potion. "I _was_ a Death Eater, actually. Or did you fail to notice that when you viewed my memories? I was a Death Eater, and a change of heart and a few sacrifices to attempt to right the wrongs I caused do not make me a hero, by any stretch."

"Well, the Ministry and I disagree with you, there. If you need proof of that, there's an Order of Merlin hanging somewhere with your name on it." Snape didn't reply to that, and for several minutes, neither of them spoke while Harry watched him work.

"I suppose it's lucky for you, in some ways, that Hermione, Ron, and I thought you were dead," Harry said at length, breaking the silence. Snape shot him a look and Harry quickly explained, "Our testimony convinced them that there was no chance you walked away from the Shack. If it wasn't for that, I think they'd have actually kept looking for you, thinking maybe you had survived. As it is, they assumed that one of the Death Eaters took your body away, presumably on Voldemort's orders. The way he reacted when Bellatrix died, we sort of assumed that perhaps he cared for a few of his followers enough to want to... honour one of his 'loyal' servants."

Snape snorted at that, and Harry almost smiled. "You got your privacy because of it, though, I guess. I know that probably isn't a lot of compensation, considering..."

"Leave it be, Potter," Snape said, waving one hand in dismissal without looking at him. The words were not angry or defensive, and Harry relaxed slightly, shifting on his stool beside Snape's workspace, resting his arms on the lab table and stretching up in an attempt to peer into the cauldron.

"What exactly are you making, again?"

"The same thing I am _always_ making," Snape answered. He withdrew something from a pocket of his robes and upended it over the cauldron, giving it a gentle shake to loosen up the last few drops of silvery liquid clinging to the lip of the phial. Harry watched them drip into the cauldron and turn the potion inside a vibrant shade of emerald for a fleeting moment before it settled into a much more muted colour and Snape began to stir.

Rather than speak and interrupt his concentration, Harry shifted again, propping his chin in his hands and looking at Snape with an arched eyebrow. He saw Snape give him a few brief glances out of the corner of his eye, at one point shaking his head as though the fact that Harry was watching him was an annoyance in itself, but Harry only flashed a small smile at that and Snape did not complain. When he withdrew the stirring rod from the cauldron and laid it aside, Snape finally addressed him again, though he was not looking at Harry, instead focussing on decanting the potion.

"It is something I've been experimenting with over the past several months, to help regulate my body temperature, rather than have to rely on a spell or the heating. It's a remarkably inconvenient way to live, having to ensure that the temperature is always within a certain range. Regaining some measure of normality, despite my condition, would be a small, but rather welcome, comfort."

Harry made a noise of understanding, eyeing the potion bottle. "It's never worked before?" he asked, and Snape gave a terse shake of his head as he wedged the stopper into place. "Do you know of anything similar to it? Something you could modify to suit your purpose?"

"What do you think I've been doing all this while, Potter? The base for this potion was a fever reducer, since those are designed to stabilise one's temperature. But there do not seem to be any adjustments I can make that will change it appropriately."

Ignoring the biting tone, Harry only nodded, continuing to consider the potion for a moment longer before he straightened up on his stool, looking up to meet Snape's eyes. "Why not start from scratch, then?" The question seemed to catch Snape by surprise and Harry bit his lip to stop the satisfied smile that threatened to turn up his lips. "You know enough about ingredients to adjust existing formulas. I don't see why you couldn't use that knowledge to your advantage and create your own potion. I mean, it's rather unprecedented, isn't it? Something like this happening?"

Snape nodded. "I will admit my resources are limited, with only the Black library and what texts of my own are here for reference, but I have not been able to find any previous examples. The nearest I've seen were the Naga, in India, which seem to be quite a different creature, as they appear to have been _born_ as such. What happened to me is entirely unique, from the look of things..."

Harry watched as Snape began turning the potion bottle in his hands with a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. "You may have a point about attempting to create my own formula from scratch. The issue becomes funding some of the ingredients, however. As you so cleverly noted, I only have the most basic things available here, and while I've stored the more rare ingredients upstairs, my stores are still limited, and experimentations could waste what little I have before I am able to succeed."

"What about Kreacher?" Harry suggested, and Snape arched an eyebrow at him in question.

"You expect a house-elf to pay for my ingredients? Pray tell, how would that work, exactly?"

" _Actually_ , I'm suggesting you send him to retrieve them. As far as anyone knows, he's still my elf. And he has access to the Black vault. There's plenty there for whatever you'd need."

Snape looked at him in surprise for a long moment before he inclined his head in a nod. "I appreciate that..." The way he trailed off suggested that he'd almost said more and stopped himself short, and Harry nodded in return, understanding the unspoken thanks.

"You're welcome."

* * *

Harry paused in his cleaning and straightened up to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. He'd attempted to cast cooling charms while he worked, but they had a tendency to fail without him realizing until he was already sweating, and he had finally given up on them completely. Taking a look around the kitchen, he sighed and moved to drop himself down into one of the chairs at the table. It would have been faster to simply use magic to clean the rooms, but with nothing else for him to do all day, it had seemed the better option to do the work himself, with minimal assistance from Kreacher. The elf was none too happy that Harry wasn't asking him to do the work, but it gave Harry something to do and he was beginning to go mad, cooped up in the house all of the time.

He sat, allowing a moment of relaxation before he pushed himself up again and headed out into the entrance hall, dragging the broom and dustpan with him. Clearing the layers of grime and dust from the floorboards was a long and intensive process, and after the better part of an hour, Harry resorted to using his wand just to finish the task. It proved almost impossible to remove every trace of dirt, no matter how he tried, but by the time he allowed himself another break, they did not look nearly as filthy as they had when he'd begun. Leaning back against the wall while he looked around to observe the space, he frowned to himself, finding the bare walls rather lonely and unwelcoming.

With a thoughtful hum, he murmured an _Accio_ to summon the shard of Sirius' mirror he'd had on him when he first came to the house, now safely tucked away upstairs in his room. Catching it as it came soaring down the stairs towards him, Harry considered the piece, seeing only his own reflection until he tilted it and gained a glimpse of rumpled fabric and laughed softly. Aberforth had been kind enough to return his piece to him after the Battle, and Harry had been quite happy to have it back, although it didn't matter too much either way. He'd bundled the shard up in an old jumper Molly had knitted him and stuffed it safely away at the bottom of his trunk back at the Burrow, and continued carrying Sirius' piece with him as he'd always done.

Turning the piece of the mirror over in his hand, Harry considered it and then set it carefully down onto the floor. It took a moment to get the charms just right to transfigure the piece of glass into a proper, oval-shaped mirror, framed with dark wood and accented with faint lines of gold. Levitating the new mirror up to the wall, he cast a powerful sticking charm to fix it to the wall near the door and then nodded to himself in satisfaction.

"Potter! What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

Harry started and turned to see Snape standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching him with an eyebrow arched. Shaking himself, he tucked his wand away and gestured at the broom and dustpan propped up against the wall. "Cleaning."

Snape shook his head and gestured towards the stairs. "Why not do that upstairs, where it is truly needed? That disgusting attic, perhaps? Merlin only knows what things have been left to rot up there."

Rolling his eyes, Harry grabbed the dustpan and broom, carrying them towards the stairs. "I notice you don't offer to help, or just clean it yourself, though," he pointed out, and Snape smirked.

"Of course not, Potter. I am far too busy to clean."

Harry snorted but didn't argue, shaking his head to himself as he trudged his way up the stairs.

* * *

"Look what I found!" Harry said as he came bounding down the stairs into the sitting room. Snape was sitting in the armchair with the fire lit, so Harry dropped himself down onto the sofa, placing the wizarding wireless he'd found in the attic on the low table in front of him. It had taken nearly a week to clear out the attic properly, having to sort through what appeared to be at least twenty years of clutter to even be able to walk in the space. He'd found the wireless tucked away in a box and had been too eager to show it to Snape to test it before bringing it down.

When he tapped it with his wand, the wireless crackled and then came to life with the volume turned up all the way, filling the room with a painfully loud mix of static and voices until Harry quickly twisted another knob to lower the volume.

"Damn it, Potter, are you attempting to make me _deaf_?"

"Sorry," Harry answered with a small shrug, glancing over and noticing Snape was scowling at him with his hands clamped over his ears. Shaking his head, he looked down and tuned properly to a station and the steady crackle of static beneath the voices faded. Snape dropped his hands down and picked up his book again.

For several minutes, Harry toyed with the wireless, adjusting the volume and turning the knobs to change from one station to the next, not spending too much time on any one, just delighting in the sound of other people's voices filling the room.

"Will you _please_ turn that damned thing off, Potter?" Snape snapped without looking up from the book in his hands, after it had gone on for nearly half an hour. Rolling his eyes, Harry ignored him as he continued to scan through stations on the wireless.

_"-disappearance of Harry Potter-"_

Harry's fingers stilled on the knob for a moment, and he heard Snape straighten up in his chair. Quickly flipping back to the station, he pulled his hand away and listened.

_"-asley family were asked for another statement, in hopes of finding something the Aurors had missed during the initial investigation. With no new evidence to push the case forward, they are turning again to the wizarding public for any information you may have about his whereabouts. Theories have continued to fly as to what has happened to our one-time Saviour, but the DMLE has asked that no theories be sent to the missing persons post address, and assures us all that they are following up on every lead that they have found to be plausible in the case."_

There was a brief pause, followed by the sound of ruffling papers through the speaker, and then the newswizard began rattling off the scores from the latest Chudley Cannons match. Flicking the wireless off, Harry sat back and stared at it for a long moment in silence. The news that there had been an initial search for him after he'd left the Burrow was not entirely surprising, but the fact that it had persisted for four months _was_ , although he suspected it was no longer a top priority, given the smooth transition into Quidditch scores immediately after. Shaking his head, Harry turned to look at Snape, who was watching him from the armchair across the room.

His book sat closed in his lap and his dark eyes bored into Harry's as the silence continued to stretch on in the room. The longer it went on, the more uncomfortable Harry became, searching for something to say, but not knowing where to begin, after what they had just heard. When Snape spoke instead to break the silence, the flicker of relief he felt was quickly replaced by surprise at the words.

"You should go."

Harry stared at Snape for a moment before he recalled the ability to speak, stammering out a "What?" that was answered by Snape repeating himself. He watched as Snape's gaze shifted away from his own in favour of flicking a speck of dust off his robes, and when he looked up again, he glanced towards Harry out of the corner of his eye before scowling at the fireplace.

"Do stop gawking at me like that, Potter, you look as though you're attempting to catch flies."

"I'm sorry, it's just... that isn't what I was expecting you to say," Harry admitted with a shrug, watching Snape uncertainly. "You're really offering to let me leave?"

Snape's gaze snapped to him again with a sharp look. "Do I strike you as a man prone to jokes, Potter? If I told you to go, then, yes, it was an offer to let you leave. I do not believe that I have much choice, at any rate, if they have launched a full-scale investigation into your disappearance. It is only a matter of time before someone suggests they search here, assuming that has not already happened. And although I have every faith in my wards, I am not foolish enough to believe they could _never_ be undone. At least if I send you back now, I have the hope of my wards remaining intact and maintaining my privacy here. Unless you intend to ask me to leave?"

Without hesitation, Harry shook his head.

"Well, then, I suppose it is all for the best. I will finally have the house to myself again, and you may return to your life." 

"I... _thank you_ ," Harry said. Snape made a dismissive gesture, waving Harry to go, but had once again begun to avoid his eyes. Pursing his lips and falling silent, Harry struggled a moment for something more to say. When nothing came to him, he gave a small nod and pushed up to his feet, stuffing his hands awkwardly into the pockets of his trousers. He'd come to Grimmauld Place with nothing, and there seemed no point in packing up what was left of Sirius' things to call his own.

"So," he started uncertainly, scuffing the toe of one trainer on the floor. "I should just..."

"Would you feel more secure if I were to escort you to the door, Potter?" Snape snapped. "I can imagine how the distance between here and there must be frightfully long for you."

Straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin a bit to give himself an appearance of more height, Harry levelled a glare at Snape. "Well, I'd hate to inconvenience you, but I had thought some sort of goodbye might be in order, but clearly I was mistaken."

Snape only stared at him for a moment before rising to his feet and striding right past Harry towards the stairs with a murmured, "I will walk you to the door."

Harry fell into step behind him, once again searching for something to say and coming up empty. To his relief, Snape was the first to speak when they reached the front door of the house. Hovering back a few steps away from the door, with his arms folded over his chest, he was watching Harry out of the corner of his eyes.

"I would thank you not to tell anyone of my survival, or my presence here."

"What, no threats or requests for me to give you a Vow?" Harry asked with a light-heartedness that he hardly felt. Snape stared at him again in silence and he let out a soft sigh as he nodded his agreement. "I won't tell anyone."

Snape inclined his head in a show of thanks and Harry shuffled for a moment with his hand on the doorknob, looking up at him. He opened his mouth once to speak, but then clamped it closed again, turning his back to Severus and pulling open the door.

"Goodbye."

* * *

Potter pulled the door closed behind himself, and less than a minute later, Severus heard the sharp _crack_ of Apparition on the front step. Of its own volition, his hand reached for the doorknob, long fingers curling around the little bulb of brass, still warm from Potter's hand on it only a moment before. With a scowl, he snatched his hand back as he realized what he was doing, quickly wiping his palm against his robes and taking a step back away from the door. As he turned away, his eye caught on the blur of his reflection in glass and he hesitated, turning slowly to face the mirror hanging beside the door.

It had been nearly ten months since he'd seen his own face, the last time being only a few days after the Battle. Once he was on his feet again and able to move around on his own, the sight of his arms, and even his torso, had held a sort of morbid fascination for him. But the image of his face, each time he saw it in a mirror, had been somehow harder to face. He had tried to tell himself that it was his eyes; the way the pupils had changed reminded him far too much of Nagini, even if the colour was all wrong. He still saw those eyes in his sleep most nights, as well as that opened jaw lunging towards him. It was easier to tell himself, at first, that it was the fresh memories that still haunted him that made it so difficult to face what he'd become.

As he stared at his reflection in the mirror now, however, it was not his eyes that bothered him – at least not them alone. The pale, sallow look his face had once had was erased, replaced by those glossy black scales that shone with a hint of green when the light struck them. He'd tried often enough in the early days to see if his skin was still there beneath the scales, but every shedding only revealed more of the same dark snake skin. He hadn't dared to try removing it, afraid that the attempt would only leave him scarred, as well. Instead, Severus had stopped gazing into any of the mirrors in Grimmauld Place, only to quickly find that it wasn't enough to never look in them.

Every glimpse of his reflection from the corner of his eye began to wear on him, tempting him to look at the face he couldn't bear to see, now. More than the reminder of Nagini, and even the reminder of his past and all the darkness that came with it, it was the realization that this change was _permanent_ that bothered Severus the most. The Mark on his arm could have been covered by his sleeves, or with a Glamour. If he had chosen to hide somewhere in the Muggle world, it could have been explained away as some foolish tattoo gained in his younger years. But his _face_ could not be so easily disguised. The allure of the Muggle world, as a place to hide after the war, had been that he would not have to hide himself entirely. But this change had destroyed that possibility, and within two days after he had first looked in one again, Severus had shattered every mirror in Grimmauld Place.

Staring at the mirror for a long moment, Severus took the time to really _look_ at himself and felt anger slowly bubbling up inside him. Arthur had been the first person he'd had contact with, but Potter had actually spent time with him. Had _talked_ to him, in a way that only Albus had ever done. Potter had seen his face, and even on that first day, when he'd arrived in the house, Potter had never flinched back from the sight. It had been comforting. But, looking at the face Potter had been seeing for the past few months erased that small sense of comfort entirely. He knew what he looked like – he had known it all along, since the first time he had looked in a mirror – but facing his reflection again, after all this time, he realized how very inhuman he looked. How dark. _Damaged_.

Potter would not be coming back. Not now that he'd been given the freedom to leave in the first place, something he had so sorely wanted in the early days. He might have stopped asking after a while, but Severus doubted that the desire to leave and be free of his presence had ever faded. He had only gotten better at keeping his mouth shut about it. No, there was no reason for Potter to come back to Grimmauld Place when his life was entirely outside of these walls. Whatever friendship they had formed did not matter, and it would be foolish to think Potter might actually wish to see _him_ again.

Scowling at his face in the mirror, Severus curled his hands into fists at his sides, his body beginning to tremble lightly. He pressed his blunt nails into the skin of his palms, and after another moment, let out a sharp, strangled yell and brought one arm up to slam his fist into the mirror. The glass shattered beneath his knuckles, cutting into his hand and falling to the floor in shards. The frame that had held the mirror hung crookedly on the wall as Severus pulled his fist away, and with another strained sound, he wrenched the frame down off the wall, letting it clatter to the floor as he stalked off deeper into the house.

* * *

Harry Apparated to the front yard of the Burrow, his shoes crunching in the snow as he made his way up to the front door. He tugged his jacket tightly around himself and raised a hand to knock on the door, listening to the sound of voices on the other side as someone came to open it for him. When the door swung inward, there was a moment of silence as Harry looked at Molly, watching her expression quickly morph from surprise to relief in the moment before her arms wrapped around him and he found himself being hauled inside.

"Hello, Molly," Harry said, his words coming out a little breathless as Molly hugged him to her. She stepped back after a moment, placing her hands on Harry's shoulders and looking at him in disapproval.

"Where have you been all this time? Do you have any idea how worried we’ve all been?" Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Molly continued as she placed a hand between Harry's shoulders and propelled him forward towards the kitchen. "Didn't even send us a Patronus, or an owl. We've had no idea where you were, and look at you, it's like you haven't eaten properly all this while. Sit," she ordered, gesturing at the kitchen table.

Startled, Harry sat, watching Molly start bustling around to fix him a plate, and shook his head. "Honestly, Molly, I've been fine. Hello, Arthur," he added as Arthur entered the room.

"Harry!" Arthur bent down and wrapped him in a brief hug before pulling back and taking his own seat at the table across from Harry. "Where have you been all this time?"

"Nowhere important, just-"

"'Nowhere important' he says" Molly interrupted, setting a plate with a sandwich and a cup of tea down in front of Harry with a huff. "Why didn't you tell any of us where you'd gone off to, then? Or owl?"

"I couldn't," Harry answered without thinking. Clearing his throat softly, he curled his hands around the cup of tea and quickly covered for the slip by adding, "I was busy the whole time. It never really crossed my mind."

Molly made another huffing sound. "Honestly, what could have kept you so distracted that you didn't think to talk to anyone?"

Harry glanced away from Molly to meet Arthur's eyes, choosing his answer carefully. "I happened across an old acquaintance from Hogwarts. I hadn't seen him since the Battle, and he was sort of... reluctant for me to leave right away." Arthur's eyes widened, a question in his gaze, and as soon as Molly's back was turned to them, Harry inclined his head in a small nod. He quickly turned his gaze up to Molly when she came back towards the table with a cup of tea for Arthur in one hand, and a cup for herself in the other, and he adopted his best, sheepish grin. "I guess I just wasn't thinking. He seems to have changed a lot, since then, so we were busy catching up."

"That's hardly an excuse," Molly started. It was clear by her expression that she was gearing up to scold him, and Harry braced himself for it, only to look up in surprise when Arthur interrupted before she could begin.

"Mollywobbles, perhaps we ought to let it be." Molly shot Arthur a look, and he quickly raised a hand in a gesture of surrender. "I was as worried as you, or anyone, but he is a grown young man, and quite capable of taking care of himself. I hardly think we need to demand answers and explanations from him." Arthur looked away from Molly and met Harry's eyes as he finished, "He is entitled to his privacy."

The words seemed to hold quite a bit of weight, and Harry had the impression that Arthur wasn't necessarily talking about him anymore. He inclined his head in a small nod, and Molly gave a nod of her own, her attention focussed entirely on her tea as she did, and then raised her face to look first at Arthur, and then at Harry, smiling at him and reaching over to pat his arm.

"Forgive me, Harry. I sometimes forget that all of you have grown up. Now, eat." She waved a hand at the plate in front of Harry and then looked at Arthur, reaching her hand to him and smiling when Arthur clasped it in his own. Dropping his attention down to the sandwich in front of him, Harry ate in silence, letting Molly and Arthur settle into their own conversation while he did, though more than once, he glanced up to find Arthur's eyes on him.

* * *

Harry sat on the sofa in the sitting room, listening to the hum of conversation around him. He'd returned to the Burrow just over a month earlier, and had quickly developed a habit of making himself scarce as much as possible when the entire family began to crowd into the house, as they were now. The majority of the family had turned out for the weekend to celebrate George's birthday, which had just passed, and now were milling around the sitting room chatting while he kept to himself, perched alone at one end of the sofa. Glancing up over the top of his book, Harry flicked his gaze around the room, and startled when he turned his head to one side and found George's face hovering just inches from his own.

"Bloody hell, George," he snapped as he jumped back a bit. George laughed and moved around the end of the sofa, dropping himself down on the cushion beside Harry. Slinging one arm across the back of the sofa, he extended his other hand to Harry to offer him a peppermint from the bag in his hand.

"Not my fault you've decided to tune everybody out, you know. Just trying to be social."

George flashed a grin and Harry shook his head, reaching into the bag for a peppermint but stopping short of popping it into his mouth, eyeing it with suspicion. "Being social or searching for an unwitting test subject?" he asked, and George let out another laugh.

"I'm almost offended you think so little of me, Harry. I would never dose my favourite honorary brother without telling him first."

"George, I'm your _only_ honorary brother, and it wouldn't be the first time you've slipped me something in the testing stages. So should I be worried, or are these actually just peppermints?"

"Perfectly safe peppermints, Harry. I solemnly swear and everything," George answered, popping one of the mints into his own mouth and letting out a contented hum. Satisfied when nothing happened to him, Harry stuffed his own into his mouth and sucked. To his surprise, the taste of it on his tongue brought back flickers of memories of nights in Grimmauld Place, tearing through the bag he'd found in Fred and George's old room. Thoughts of Snape flickered through his mind as well, and he caught himself wondering, not for the first time, how, and what, Snape was doing in that old house, alone once more.

" _Harry_."

George's hand waved in front of his face, startling him out of his thoughts, and Harry blinked owlishly behind his glasses once and then focussed on him. "Sorry, what?"

Shaking his head, George chuckled and settled against the back of the sofa, popping another peppermint into his mouth. "You tuned out for a minute again. Something on your mind?"

"Oh, erm... no. Nothing. Was just thinking, I suppose." Harry shrugged and looked away, struggling not to allow a frown to pull down the corners of his mouth.

"Thinking. Right. Looked more like reminiscing, to me," George said. "Thinking about some mystery bloke you met on your 'vacation', were you? It's alright, Harry, there's no shame in it. Everyone has their one-offs when they're travelling, don't they?" he teased when Harry gave him a stunned look.

Harry felt heat rising in his cheeks and quickly shook his head. "It's not like that, George. There wasn't... we weren't..."

"Ah, the one that got away, then? Those are always the hardest." George's voice softened and lost its teasing lilt in favour of a much more sympathetic tone. "Don't you have some way to get in touch with him? Maybe see if things still look as bright beneath the not-so-very-sunny skies of home?"

"No, I-" Harry stopped himself the moment he started to shake his head again, recalling the piece of Sirius' mirror that he'd had with him at Grimmauld Place. The piece that had become the entryway mirror. "Maybe," he corrected softly, not looking at George as he wondered whether or not the mirror would do him any good. "Excuse me."

Harry pushed up to his feet, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the satisfied expression on George's face. He took the stairs two at a time as he made his way up to the room he'd been given at the house. It had once been Fred and George's room; he'd shared it with George after the war, and when George had left, it had become 'his' for as long as he was staying at the Burrow. Molly and Arthur hadn't moved any of his things during the months that he'd been gone, and he'd hardly touched most of his things since his return.

His old trunk was pushed up against the foot of the bed, the top covered in a thin layer of dust. As Harry opened his trunk, he frowned, realizing for the first time how much of his past he'd locked away inside it after the war. Sitting back on his heels, he began sifting through the contents, piling a few things he meant to keep onto his bed, and setting the rest – mostly old sheets of parchment and other incidental bits of rubbish that had been swept into the trunk to be disposed of later – out on the floor beside him. He Vanished the latter pile once he'd all but emptied the trunk, and then reached in to draw out the last item inside, unfolding the old, rumpled sweater to retrieve the shard of Sirius' mirror.

Lifting it up, he tilted it in the light, angling it one way and then another. When the image in the reflection never changed to show him the wall of the entryway of Grimmauld Place, or some flicker of movement as Severus moved past the mirror, he frowned and peered closer at the glass. It took him a moment to realize that the reflection was not that of the room around him, or even a wall, but a _ceiling_. A memory of walking into one of the bathrooms after his arrival at Grimmauld Place to see that the mirror there had been destroyed flitted through his mind, and Harry pushed himself up to his feet.

With a sweep of his arm, he pushed everything on his bed back into his trunk, tucking the piece of mirror into a pocket of his denims as he made his way quickly down the stairs. Ron was at the bottom of the staircase as he descended, and took a step back to give Harry room.

"I was just about to come up. Mum wants to know if-... Harry?"

Ron made a grab for Harry's arm as he passed him, halting him long enough for Harry to meet Ron’s eyes as he pulled his arm free. Shooting him an apologetic look, Harry started moving again, calling over his shoulder as he made his way towards the front door, "Ron, whatever it is, it's going to have to wait. I need to go." He didn't wait around for an answer from him, and ignored the few questions aimed at him from the others as he darted through the sitting room, pulling the door open and stepping out into the cool air. Ron's voice called out behind him as the door swung shut, but Harry ignored it, pulling his jacket tighter around himself as he Apparated away to the front step of Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Grimmauld Place was cold and dark when he stepped inside. Harry had expected dark, after spending so much time there, but it was the cold that caught him off guard and worried him. As he closed the door behind him and took a step further into the entrance hall, he heard something crunch beneath his shoe and looked down to see the shattered remains of the mirror. The glass still littered the floorboards, along with the broken frame, and other than what his own feet had scattered further into the hall, it didn't look as though it had been disturbed since it was broken. With a sigh, Harry drew his wand out of a pocket, repairing the mirror with a few quick waves of his hand and murmured words.

He stood by and watched the mirror reform before moving further into the house. Out of habit, his head turned as he walked past the kitchen, and once again, Harry stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowing in confusion. Nothing seemed to have changed in the room, which wasn't strange in itself, except that the camellias in the window box were wilted. Turning away from the stairs, Harry strode into the kitchen instead and approached the flowers, reaching out to touch them and drawing his hand back quickly when the gentle brush of his fingers against one bloom caused the petals to break free and flutter down to the windowsill.

Raising his wand again, Harry murmured a quick _Aguamenti_ to water the soil, following it with a contained sunlight charm, assuming by the look of them that it had been at least a week since they'd had proper sunlight, if not longer. He frowned at that realization, recalling how particular Severus had always been about his flowers – as far as Harry could recall, in all his time at the house with him, Severus had _never_ neglected them. His desire to tend them had bordered on obsessive, making their current state worrisome. Shaking his head, Harry took a step back from the window box and turned, tugging his jacket more tightly around himself as he made his way up the staircase, taking the stairs two at a time.

The state of the camellias, combined with the cold temperature of the house, caused a frown to pull down the corners of Harry's mouth as he stepped up onto the landing. It didn't seem possible that anyone else had come into the house since he left; Severus had been rather adamant that his new wards could not have been bypassed by anyone but himself or Harry. There was the possibility that perhaps Severus had simply left the house, but Harry found it difficult to accept. Had Severus left, he likely would have taken the flowers that he cared for so deeply, rather than leave them here to die. Which left Harry with only one viable theory, and his stomach dropped.

Something was _wrong_ with Severus.

As he stepped into the sitting room, intending to make his way towards the next staircase to the upper floors where Severus' room had been, Harry froze as something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Turning, his breath caught in his throat and he rushed forward towards the sofa, stumbling over his own feet in his rush. Stretched out across the sofa, Severus' eyes were closed, and even the sound of Harry crashing to his knees in front of the sofa did not make him stir. For a moment, Harry feared the worst, listening to his heart hammering in his ears as he stretched out a hand to touch Severus' neck. When he felt a pulse beneath his fingers, though, he relaxed infinitesimally.

Sitting back on his haunches, he wondered for a moment what to do. Severus was _alive_ , that much was clear, but he looked ill, and was completely unresponsive. After a moment, though, Severus' body rippled as though he’d shivered, and Harry let out a sharp, humourless laugh, wondering how he'd been so thoughtless about the cold. Severus had explained to him on more than one occasion why Grimmauld Place was kept so warm, but his time away had somehow made it slip his mind.

Shaking his head at himself for his lack of thought, he used his wand to light the fireplace at his back, watching as the flames cast a warm glow on the skin of Severus' face. Without thinking, Harry reached his hand out and brushed back several strands of lank, black hair, tucking them behind Severus' ear and then frowned when he realized what he'd done, promptly snapping his hand back as though afraid Severus might suddenly wake from the touch. When he didn't, Harry released the breath he was holding and gave his wand another wave, Summoning a quilt from one of the bedrooms and draping it over Severus as he stood up.

"For once, it isn't _me_ doing foolish things," Harry murmured, looking down at Severus wrapped in the quilt while the fire worked to warm the room. He moved away from the sofa and tugged off his jacket, dropping it over the back of the armchair set apart from the fireplace, and threw himself heavily into the chair with a sigh. Fixing the temperature of the house might not fix whatever was wrong with Severus, but at least it would rule out just being too cold, so that he could try to find out what _would_ help.

Settling into a more comfortable position in the chair, Harry stretched his legs out over the arm of it, sitting sideways and slumping down against the seat to tip his head back onto the opposite arm. He turned and looked over at the sofa to watch Severus, studying the movement of his chest as it rose and fell with his breathing, slowly becoming more pronounced as the room warmed. After several minutes, Harry drew his wand to _Accio_ one of the Muggle book he'd spent so much time reading while he was there, catching it as it sailed towards him and settling in to read while he waited for Severus to wake.

Exactly when he fell asleep, Harry wasn't sure, but when he woke, the room was warm, and an old quilt had been draped over him. Straightening his glasses on his face, Harry blinked a few times to clear the last traces of sleep from his vision and looked closer at the quilt, realizing it was the same one he had lain over Severus earlier. Harry turned his head and saw Severus sitting up at the end of the sofa, watching him in silence over the top of a ceramic mug. His hair hung in his face, but otherwise he was making no effort to hide it from view, even allowing his hands to be visible, dark snake skin giving way to pale, long fingers curled around his mug.

"Where's Kreacher?"

"I set him free." Snape gave him a cool look when Harry stared at him in disbelief. "I relieved him of his obligations to me and instructed him to return to you, or to go serve Minerva, if he insisted on continuing to serve Hogwarts at all. I assume, by the fact that you asked, that he chose the latter option."

Harry nodded and fell silent for a moment. "You're looking better," he said as he shifted, pushing himself upright and swinging his legs off the arm of the chair to put his feet on the floor. Severus inclined his head, reaching over to set down his mug on the low table in front of the sofa.

"I suppose I have you to thank for that." As he settled back against the corner of the sofa, Severus' eyes narrowed slightly at Harry and he folded his hands in his lap. "Although I must wonder _why_ that is."

Harry's brow furrowed at the words, the corners of his mouth tugging down into a frown. "What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ , why did you come back here?" Severus' tone took on a sharp edge, not so much requesting the answer as demanding it, as he raked his gaze over Harry with a suspicious look. "You left a month ago, so why bother coming back here now, after all this time has passed? I hardly think you've missed my company, and if you had, you would have come back sooner, so what caused the sudden desire to return?"

Harry stared at Snape in silence, feeling dumbstruck by his words before a wave of anger washed over him. "Because it couldn't possibly be that I _did_ miss your company? That maybe I just got caught up trying to sort everything out, so it took some time for me to be able to come back?"

"No."

The simple answer, delivered in a cool and level tone, caught Harry off guard and he stopped, blinked a few times, and sagged against the back of his chair. "No?" he asked, looking at Snape and trying to process that reply as though it made no sense to him at all.

"No," Snape repeated. "Because you have never been one to shun those you care for. In fact, the _only_ time I have seen you fail to keep in near-constant contact with your friends, at the very least, has been when you had no other choice. _If_ you had desired my company again, you would have had no problem returning here, as you very well know, being the _only_ one whom I could not ward out of the house. 

"Which means that your absence for such a long period of time was due to a lack of desire to return. So I will ask you again, Potter, _why_ did you come back?"

A brief silence passed between them while Harry broke his gaze away from Snape to look into the fire crackling in the hearth instead. He turned Snape's question over in his mind, struggling for the words to explain it, so that he might actually believe him. "I actually did miss you," he answered at last, his gaze staying focussed on the fire rather than Snape. 

"I didn't really have much time to dwell on it, at first. The first few days, I was swamped by the Weasleys, and then the press and other friends, trying to calm everyone down. And after that, my friends kept me busy, dragging me out for drinks to tell me what I'd missed while I was gone. Asking me how my 'vacation' was."

Harry trailed off and shook his head with a rueful smile. "I think some of them still don't really believe that I just ran off to get away for a while, but obviously I couldn't go telling them the truth. At least it made them stop prying, and that was what mattered... But by the time things had settled down, two weeks had already gone by." Turning his eyes to Snape finally, Harry continued, 

"I knew the whole time that I missed you, as bloody insane as that probably is. Because every time someone was talking to me for too long, I'd catch myself wondering what you'd be contributing to the conversation. Or, more likely, how you'd choose to insult them for whatever they were saying. I _missed_ that. And it took those first two weeks for me to realize just how much I did. But then, somehow, every time I thought that maybe I should drop by, something would happen and I'd get distracted, and then I would think it was too late in the day to consider it. I thought that you'd be busy, you'd be asleep, or someone would see me leaving and want to tag along and I wouldn't make it anyway. So I never came, even though I wanted to.

"I didn't really think _you_ would have missed _me_ , I guess,” Harry continued, when Snape remained maddeningly silent. “I kept making excuses because I didn't want you to turn me away if I actually did stop by, and then it sort of hit me – I had the mirror. I could at least look into the piece that I had and try to catch a glimpse of you moving around. A bit of a shot in the dark, really, since I'd only be able to see so much of the hall, where the mirror was, but with how often you come and go out of the kitchen, I thought maybe there was a chance."

"And what you saw made you decide you should come?" Snape asked, speaking for the first time since Harry had begun explaining, all of the accusation gone from his tone now and replaced by curiosity and something else that Harry couldn't quite place.

He nodded. "I saw the ceiling. Made it sort of obvious what had happened, considering the state I found the other mirrors in, when I first showed up here. Either you did it because you hated me, or something was wrong, and I needed to know which one it was."

"My saviour," Snape murmured, and for the first time, Harry got the impression that he was _teasing_ him, and he flashed a grin in response.

"It's about time, isn't it? Considering how many times you've saved my arse in the past."

"Indeed." Harry watched one corner of Snape's lips twitch with the faintest smile, and moved up from the chair to cross towards the sofa, dropping himself at the end opposite Snape, ignoring the arched eyebrow he received for it. "What happens now, then, since your purpose of checking up on me has been fulfilled?"

Harry hesitated at that before shaking his head. "I don't know, honestly. I thought, maybe, that you wouldn't mind me staying for a little while, actually."

"Shall I assume the whole of the wizarding world knows of your whereabouts this time, then? Or are you taking another ' _vacation_ '?" Snape asked, and Harry shrugged, smiling slightly and reaching over to pluck up the mug Snape had placed earlier on the coffee table, sniffing at it curiously.

"I'd say I've earned more vacation time, wouldn't you?" he asked, watching Snape over the rim of the mug as he took a sip. Snape didn't respond at first, and Harry began to think that he was about to ask him to leave, but then he inclined his head in a nod, and he relaxed against his corner of the sofa. "Brilliant."

* * *

Over the course of the week that followed, Harry made an effort to clean up Grimmauld Place again. Kreacher did a considerable amount of the work, and likely would have done it all, had Harry not insisted on helping him. He had started by casting a few protective charms on the mirror in the entryway, just to ensure that, if it were ever broken again, the shard of Sirius' old mirror would remain intact, at the very least. The piece that had once been in Aberforth's possession was transfigured into another full mirror in the largest bathroom on the third floor, with the same protective charms.

To his surprise, Snape had as good as encouraged him to do it, and Harry had even caught him glancing at his reflection once or twice. It never lasted long, but the fact that he no longer avoided ever setting eyes on the mirrors seemed to be a step in the right direction.

Snape still spent the majority of his time in the cellar brewing, or in the kitchen tending to his camellias again. The flowers appeared to be recovering, despite the brush with death they'd experienced, and the sight of them flourishing again seemed to improve Snape's mood as the days wore on. The improvements to the look of Grimmauld Place had a similar effect, on both his and Harry's moods, as the thorough cleaning took away the last traces of cobwebs in the corners. There were still places where no amount of scouring charms could remove the last stubborn bits of dirt and dust from the floorboards, but even with those exceptions, the house as good as shone on the inside.

In the evenings, Harry and Snape fell into the habit of eating meals together, although breakfast and lunch were usually solitary affairs, with them both doing different things in separate areas of the house. But any remaining traces of tension or uncertainty leftover from Harry's last weeks in Grimmauld Place before he'd returned to the Burrow had entirely faded now. They ate together in companionable silence, or shared easy conversations until their plates were cleared and, more often than not, retired to the library, where Harry had set up a small card table he'd found stashed away in Regulus' old room.

Those were the only times Harry ever really saw Snape in the library, despite his requests that Snape join him more often. Snape, of course, had always found one excuse or another to refuse, and although he was friendly enough with Harry, he _did_ make an effort to avoid being alone with him for too much time. It had gotten to a point where Harry had almost come to claim the library as _his_ during the day, making himself quite comfortable on the loveseat as he tore his way through Snape's collection of Muggle novels. He had just finished one of them, after spending the majority of the morning cleaning and the afternoon stretched out across the sofa to read, and was returning it to the bookshelf when Snape's voice from the doorway startled him. Spinning around on his heel to look at him, Harry laughed at the arched eyebrow Snape was giving him.

"I wonder if I ought to be offended that you apparently are surprised by my presence after all this time," Snape said as he stepped into the room. Harry noticed the way that he had tucked his hands into the pockets of his robes, the position reading _off_ somehow, when Snape hadn't made any effort to hide his hands from Harry's view in some time. Looking back on it, Harry couldn't quite pinpoint the exact moment when it had stopped, but it had been sometime before he'd left the house, and the habit had not shown itself again after his return – until now – much to Harry's relief.

"It's mostly because you never come in here until after supper," Harry explained, shrugging one shoulder and then leaning to the side to rest the same shoulder against the bookshelf, eyeing Snape as he crossed the room towards him. "Just caught me by surprise, really."

Snape hummed. Harry watched him come to a stop just steps away and looked up to meet Snape's dark eyes. "I thought perhaps you might enjoy a bit of company earlier than usual... since neither of us seems to have anything better to be doing."

One corner of Harry's mouth twitched. "You certainly know how to flatter someone, don't you, Snape? 'Since I have nothing else to do, I suppose I could spend time with you' isn't really the best opener, when you want company."

"What makes you think I have any desire to flatter you?" Snape retorted.

"You haven't outright denied it yet," Harry said. He watched Snape's eyes widen briefly at the reply, and swallowed, straightening up and holding his gaze. It had been a harmless comment, really – Harry'd had no delusions that whatever persistent pull he felt to be around Snape was mutual – but Snape's response to it suggested that perhaps it was. As they stared each other down, Harry thought over the time they'd spent together since his initial arrival at Grimmauld Place.

The arguments and the sniping at each other.

The tentative friendship they'd developed after Christmas.

Whatever it was that they had begun to share in the days just before he left, and the week since his return.

It was the last that pushed him to take one step, and then another, until he stood directly in front of Snape, speaking in a low murmur, " _Are_ you trying to flatter me, Severus?"

"I thought we had established that my words were hardly flattery?"

"I think that they could be taken that way... coming from you, at least." Severus arched an eyebrow at the reply, and Harry shrugged. "For you, admitting you want my company, however round-about you do it, seems like a pretty big compliment."

"Perhaps I'm only desperate and starved for something to do," Severus countered with a quirk of his lips. He had leaned closer while he spoke – not by much, but enough to leave their faces only a few inches apart.

Whether he intended it to be or not, it was the nudge Harry needed to move, bringing his own face closer as he murmured, "Then I guess I’ll just have to entertain you, won't I?" He held his breath the moment their lips collided, waiting for Severus' reaction. To his relief, after a brief hesitation, Severus leaned into him and Harry sighed into the kiss.

Severus' lips were soft and warm against his own, the feel of them matching the skin beneath his hands as Harry trailed his fingers over Severus' face, touching his cheeks and then running his hands down to trace the column of his throat, resting them on his shoulders. In return, Severus wrapped his arm around Harry's waist and pulled him close until their bodies were pressed flush together, one hand resting at the base of Harry's spine and the other tangled in his hair. Harry hummed into the kiss and parted his lips for him, tangling his tongue with Severus' as it delved into his mouth, and he moved his hands from their place on Severus' shoulders to twine his arms around his neck instead.

When they finally separated to breathe, Harry stayed pressed close to Severus, the arms around him keeping him pinned in place even if he'd wanted to move, and dropped his forehead against Severus' shoulder. " _Merlin_ ," he said in a breathless whisper, and, to Harry's amazement, Severus chuckled.

Lifting his head up, he took a moment to look at Severus, really _looking_ at him for what felt like the first time in ages, taking in the way his slitted pupils gleamed when the flames in the fireplace reflected in them, and the almost unnoticeable traces of vibrant green that highlighted the skin that covered his face. There was nothing especially attractive about his appearance, although the low, silky tone of his voice was appealing in itself. His hair was still greasy, nose still hooked and looking just a little too big for his face, and when his lips peeled back for a smile, they revealed yellowed and crooked teeth.

He was far from being traditionally attractive, and Harry had to admit that he probably never had been, even before the bite from Nagini. And his personality was not exactly endearing, with his sharp tongue and penchant for sarcasm. But that was who Severus _was_ , and whether or not anyone else would understand it – whether or not _Harry_ understood it himself – he liked all those things.

"Is there any particular reason that you are staring at me?" Severus asked, the low timbre of his voice pulling Harry from his thoughts with a start. Severus arched an eyebrow at Harry with an expectant look when he only blinked owlishly behind his glasses for a moment and then cleared his throat, flashing Severus an almost sheepish smile.

"I was thinking, that's all... About this. You."

Severus hummed, threading his fingers through Harry's hair and then sliding his hand free of the dark strands to trail his fingers across his cheek. "And what exactly were you thinking?"

Harry watched Severus for a moment, seeing a flicker in his eyes that he couldn't quite place, although he thought it might have been uncertainty. Reaching his own hand up to catch Severus' before he could pull it away, looking down at their hands clasped together and noticing that Severus did the same. Harry's tanned fingers wrapped around Severus' hand, long pale fingers and dark snake skin. The contrast was startling.

"I was thinking," Harry murmured, raising his gaze again and squeezing Severus' hand lightly, "that maybe I should stay missing for a while longer. At least until I can convince you to venture out into the world again..."

"I thought you were taking another 'vacation'?"

Harry grinned and shrugged one shoulder. "A vacation is a week or two. I've already been gone for one, and I get the feeling you'll take more than another to be convinced."

Silence passed between them while Severus looked into Harry's eyes, Harry holding his breath and waiting anxiously until, finally, Severus dropped their clasped hands down to their sides. Rather than release him as Harry expected, Severus laced their fingers together, leaning in to claim his lips in another kiss. It lasted for only a few seconds before they broke apart, staying close and allowing their lips to linger against each other.

"I am not an easy man to deal with, Harry. Surely you know that by now."

One corner of Harry's mouth twitched with a smile and he nodded. "I'd say it's pretty obvious, yeah." Reaching his free hand up, he laid his palm against Severus' cheek and added, "But I knew that before, and I still came back, you know. Maybe I like that you're difficult." Once again, he heard Severus chuckle and found himself being pulled closer by an arm around his waist.

"Foolish brat," Severus murmured in an affectionate tone.

"You like it," Harry countered easily. Severus didn't speak, pressing their lips together again instead, but that was all the answer Harry needed as he parted his lips once more and gave himself over to the intensity of the kiss.

**-The End-**


End file.
